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THE AGING TRIAL The campus library was closing, and Alex still hadn’t found a place to live. His laptop screen glowed with tabs full of rental listings: all either too far, too small, or too expensive. Sharing a room with strangers for six hundred a month? Out of reach. A studio apartment with peeling paint and a broken heater? Still too much. Alex rubbed his eyes. If he couldn’t secure a long-term spot soon, he'd have to commute three hours each way from their parents’ house — and biomedical engineering wasn’t exactly a program known for its light workload. Stuffing his notes into the backpack, Alex noticed a flyer pinned to the crowded announcement board by the exit. Between tutoring ads and part-time job offers, one headline stood out: “VOLUNTEERS NEEDED – MEDICAL RESEARCH STUDY. Free accommodation provided for qualified participants.” Below, in smaller text: “Details will be disclosed after preliminary screening and signing of a non-disclosure agreement. Limited spots available.” Alex paused, phone in hand, debating whether to take a picture of the number. It could be a scam. But then again… free accommodation. His rent problem, gone in an instant. Alex had only been in the city for one week, but it already felt like a maze. Streets crisscrossed in ways that maps didn’t capture, and bus routes looked more like riddles than schedules. Every rental ad he found online came with glowing descriptions — “central location,” “cozy room,” “walking distance to campus” — but Alex had no idea if those claims were true. He spent nights scrolling through housing forums and student groups on social media. Some posts warned about landlords who disappeared with deposits, others about apartments that looked nothing like the pictures. Alex opened a new tab and typed: “cheap student housing near campus free options.” The results were a depressing mix of outdated listings, shady-looking offers, and blog posts that only seemed to advertise overpriced agencies. With each click, the sense of urgency grew heavier. It was Wednesday and classes were starting on Monday. Juggling coursework and commuting from miles away was out of the question. Alex leaned back in his chair and muttered, “There’s got to be something I’m missing…” ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------- That’s when the odd ad on the university bulletin board came back to mind — the one promising accommodation for medical study participants. Back in his small hostel room, Alex opened the laptop again and typed the name of the medical study, word for word, into the search bar. Nothing useful came up. The first link was the university’s generic “Research Opportunities” page, which listed dozens of ongoing projects but gave no specifics. The second was a local news article about “growing interest in biomedical trials,” filled with broad statistics and a stock photo of smiling lab technicians. Scrolling further, Alex found a forum thread where someone had asked about free accommodation for trial participants. The only reply was a single line: “Yeah, heard about it, but it’s hush-hush. You only get details after signing something.” Not exactly reassuring. Alex tried again with different keywords: “student housing medical study free accommodation [city name].” This time, the results were a mess of outdated blog posts, job listings, and a single PDF abstract from a medical journal that was so technical it may as well have been written in code. Alex shut the laptop, staring at the ceiling. If this was a scam, it was oddly professional. If it wasn’t… it might be his only chance at staying in the city. Then, he stared at the number on the flyer for a long minute before pressing call. A flat, automated voice answered immediately: “Thank you for contacting Helixcare Clinical Research Unit. For general inquiries, press 1. For participant enrollment, press 2. For all other matters, press 3.” Alex pressed 2. The voice continued, this time with a slightly more human cadence but still synthetic: “If you are a new participant, press 1. If you are an existing participant, press 2.” Another press, another pause. Finally, after a short burst of tinny hold music, a real voice came through. Young, female, polite but brisk. “Hello, Helixcare Research, This is Anna speaking. How can I help you today?” Alex cleared their throat. “Hi, uh, my name’s Alex. I’m a new student at the university, biomedical engineering. I saw a flyer about a study that provides accommodation and, well, I wanted to ask for more information before… before applying.” There was the faint sound of typing on the other end. “I understand, Alex,” the woman said, her tone calm but rehearsed. “Unfortunately, I’m not authorized to disclose any details about the arrangement until you’ve signed a preliminary non-disclosure agreement. That’s our policy for all candidates.” “So there’s nothing you can tell me? Like what the study’s about, or what the living situation is like?” A pause. Then, her voice softened slightly, as if breaking from the script. “What I can say is that you should book an appointment as soon as possible. Based on what you’ve told me, you probably fit the profile we’re looking for. But the specifics… those must be discussed in person.” Alex frowned at the floor. The call wasn’t a dead end, but it wasn’t clarity either. “Right. Okay. How do I make that appointment?” “I can schedule you right now,” she replied smoothly. “When would you be available?” “I have a slot tomorrow afternoon,” the operator said, her tone clipped but efficient. “Four o’clock. The facility is located at the Clinical Research Unit, Building 17, East Industrial Park.” Alex hesitated. “Industrial Park? That’s… not really near campus, is it?” “About twenty minutes by subway,” she replied, without missing a beat. “Exit at Portside Station, then it’s a ten minutes walk. You’ll receive an email confirmation with directions and the confidentiality agreement you’ll need to sign upon arrival. Please bring a valid ID.” The line was silent for a moment. “ Do you want me to book that slot for you?” she asked. Alex’s mouth went dry. Everything about this felt unusual. Research studies were supposed to be on campus, or in a hospital, not tucked away in some industrial district far from cafés and apartments. But then again — free accommodation. “Yeah,” Alex said finally. “Book it.” “Very good,” the operator replied, her voice returning to its professional cadence. “You’ll receive the confirmation shortly. Thank you for calling.” The call ended with a soft click. Alex dropped the phone on the bedspread and stared at it, half expecting it to ring again. Tomorrow, he'd be going to an industrial park to meet strangers about a confidential study he couldn’t read about online. He wasn’t sure if it was a solution — or the start of a bigger problem. ‐‐------------ Alex had agonized over what to wear. He settled on jeans and an Oxford shirt tthat looked “professional,” even if it felt stiff and not like his usual self. Better to look like a serious candidate than someone desperate for free housing, he reasoned. He was there twenty minutes early. The neighborhood looked tired, like it had seen better times. Empty warehouses lined the cracked sidewalks, their windows either boarded up or covered in graffiti tags. The smell of damp concrete mixed with trash lingered in the air. A stray shopping cart leaned against a broken lamppost. Alex tugged at his collar, pretending to check his phone as he walked the perimeter. And then he saw it. Behind a tall black fence stood a gleaming white building, spotless against the grime around it. Its glass façade reflected the cloudy sky, and on the front gate a polished sign read: “HelixCare Medical Solutions – Innovation in Geriatric Medicine.” The contrast was startling. While the street outside was littered with crumpled cans and scrawled tags, the grounds inside the fence were immaculate: trimmed hedges, clean pavement, not a single leaf out of place. Surveillance cameras watched silently from every corner. Alex slowed his pace, pretending to text. The whole place looked more like the headquarters of a pharmaceutical giant than the kind of “research study” you found advertised on a student bulletin board. He glanced again at the sign. Geriatric medicine? It wasn’t exactly what he’d expected — but then again, he didn’t know what he’d expected. With fifteen minutes to spare, Alex walked a bit further down the road opposite the one he came from: same abandoned buildings, not a nice place if you were here alone by night. At precisely four o’clock, Alex passed through the security gate, flashing his student ID to a guard who studied it longer than expected before letting him inside. The building smelled faintly of new paint and disinfectant. A receptionist with a tablet walked him down a corridor lined with frosted glass doors. Outside one of them, she stopped. “Please wait here,” she said, handing him a clipboard with several sheets. “Before you can proceed, we’ll need your signature on the confidentiality agreement.” Alex glanced once again at the first page. The dense legal language blurred into a wall of text, but a few phrases jumped out at him: Non-disclosure of research details… penalties for breach… binding for five years. His pen hovered. His chest tightened. “Is this… normal?” he asked, almost to himself. The receptionist gave the polite, neutral smile of someone trained not to answer. After a moment’s hesitation, Alex signed his name in the blank space at the bottom. His signature looked smaller than usual, almost swallowed by the thick black line. The receptionist nodded, collected the papers, and pushed open the door. “You can go in.” The room inside was sleek, minimalist, and coldly professional. A woman in her early thirties stood behind the desk, lab coat crisp, her dark hair pulled back in a severe bun. She extended a hand immediately, her grip firm and almost challenging. “I’m Dr. Claudia Weiss. Please have a sit.” Alex obeyed, perching on the edge of the chair. Dr. Weiss didn’t waste words. “Now that you’re officially under NDA, I can explain.” She leaned forward, her eyes sharp and restless. “My project is one of the most ambitious in geriatric medicine. We are developing advanced wearable devices to assist patients with dementia, Alzheimer’s, and related impairments. These aren’t just monitors — they are intelligent systems designed to anticipate and adapt to the patient’s condition.” Her tone was clipped, urgent, as though time itself was her biggest enemy. “We have the funding. We have cutting-edge prototypes. What we don’t have is time. Testing requires conditions that reflect reality — and that’s where you come in.” Alex straightened in his chair, unsure if he wanted to hear the next part. “We’re recruiting bright, adaptable young candidates who can undergo controlled, reversible interventions — short-acting drugs, hypnotic procedures, sensory distorters, physical devices. These methods temporarily simulate the disorientation, the loss of memory, the impaired motor function our patients live with. Unlike them, however, you recover. And while under these conditions, you test the equipment and provide structured feedback.” She paused, letting the weight of her words sink in. “In return, you receive full accommodation in our residential wing. Private room, meals, access to facilities. No rent, no bills. Just your cooperation, and your mind.” Her eyes locked on his, sharp and unwavering. “You signed the NDA. Now the question is: do you think you can handle this?” Alex leaned back, trying to keep his voice steady. “Before I answer that, I need to understand how this would fit with… well, my life as a student. I mean, I’m starting biomedical engineering. Classes, labs, late nights — I can’t afford to wreck that. So…” He counted on his fingers. “First: are there curfews or restrictions if I live here? Second: if I’m taking these drugs, will they interact with, uh…” He hesitated, then said it plainly. “Alcohol. Weed. Stuff students sometimes do. Third: do you run drug tests? And last — maybe most important — is there any risk the effects don’t fully go away?” Dr. Weiss’s expression sharpened, as though she welcomed the challenge. She clasped her hands on the desk. “Reasonable questions. Let’s address them one by one.” Her tone was clipped, deliberate. “Curfews: none, as long as you show up for scheduled sessions. We’re not running a prison. We want normal routines — classes, studying, even socializing. That’s part of the test. The equipment has to work in real life, not in isolation.” She ticked the next point with a finger. “Alcohol, cannabis, other substances: while you’re under the influence of trial drugs or procedures, absolutely forbidden. Outside those windows, your personal habits are your business — but, of course, the more clean your system, the more reliable our data.” A faint smirk touched her lips. “I assume a biomedical student can grasp that.” “Drug testing,” she continued briskly. “Yes. Random screenings. Not to punish, but to ensure results aren’t contaminated. If you’ve smoked the night before and we give you a short-term amnesic compound, how do we distinguish one effect from the other? We need clarity.” Her gaze hardened slightly at the final question. “And on irreversibility: the methods are rigorously designed to avoid lasting changes. Every procedure is either pharmacologically reversible, time-limited, or purely mechanical. But science isn’t religion, Alex. Nothing in life is zero-risk. You cross the street, there’s a risk. What I can promise is that our protocols meet the strictest ethical and medical standards available.” She leaned forward, her voice lowering a notch. “If you want guarantees, stay in your dorm. If you want to be part of something cutting-edge — something your textbooks won’t cover for another decade — then accept that controlled risk is the price.” Alex swallowed, heat rising in his face. He couldn’t tell if she was warning him or daring him. Alex shifted in his chair. The questions he had asked hadn’t scared him off, exactly — but they hadn’t convinced him either. Making a decision on the spot felt impossible. “I… I don’t know,” he admitted. “It’s a lot to take in. Could you tell me more about what daily life looks like? Like… how long are the sessions? Is it all-day, every day?” Dr. Weiss leaned back slightly, as if she had expected the hesitation. Her tone softened, but her words came quickly, polished. “Not constant, no. Some sessions are overnight — especially when we test sleep-related functions or devices that monitor circadian rhythms. Others happen in blocks of a few hours during the week. Outside of those windows, you’ll be free to attend your classes and study.” She gestured to her wrist, mimicking a band. “During daytime, you’ll sometimes wear prototypes — watches, vests, light sensory gear. Nothing invasive. The point is for you to experience the devices in ordinary routines, like walking to lectures or sitting in the library. We’re not isolating you from your life. We’re integrating the research into it.” Alex nodded slowly, picturing himself on campus with strange equipment strapped under his shirt. Not exactly subtle, but maybe manageable. “And you wouldn’t be alone,” Dr. Weiss added smoothly, seizing the moment. “There are five other candidates already confirmed. All young, all students like you. Three women, two men. You’d make six in total.” She leaned forward, her voice warming, almost conspiratorial. “Over the semester, you’ll build bonds — with the other volunteers, with our technicians, with the staff. Believe me, after a few weeks it feels less like a clinical trial and more like a family. You’ll eat together, train together, laugh together. For many participants, that community is as valuable as the housing itself.” Her eyes locked on his, sharp again. “You came here alone, new in the city, no real connections yet, correct? Imagine instead: a place to live, people your age, a team working toward something that matters. That’s what’s on offer.” Alex felt his throat tighten. Part of him wanted to believe her — that it could be as safe and supportive as she made it sound. Another part whispered that it was too good, too controlled, too polished. Alex cleared his throat. “One more thing. Let’s say I commit now, and later I realize it’s not working for me. What are the out options?” For the first time, Dr. Weiss didn’t answer right away. She regarded him in silence, her fingers drumming lightly on the desk. Then she leaned forward, elbows resting on the polished surface. “Technically,” she said, her voice low and measured, “you can walk away at any time. We’re not a prison. You’d return your badge, vacate your room, and that would be the end of it.” Relief flickered in Alex’s chest — but only for a moment. Dr. Weiss continued, sharper now: “But listen carefully, Alex. Projects like this don’t just run on money and equipment. They run on commitment. If you join and then abandon it halfway, you’re not just leaving a bed empty. You’re weakening the whole team. The other five students depend on consistency. My technicians depend on reliable data. Our sponsors depend on results.” She straightened, eyes narrowing slightly. “I don’t need warm bodies. I need people who are sure. When you commit, you owe it to the others — and to yourself — to see it through. Think of it less as a contract with penalties and more as a moral obligation. Breaking it isn’t against the rules, but it is against the spirit. And I will know the difference.” The words settled heavily in the room. It wasn’t a threat, not exactly. But it felt heavier than any fine or legal clause Alex could imagine. Dr. Weiss’s gaze softened only a fraction. “So I’ll ask you again: are you ready to commit — not just for the housing, but for the work, the team, the responsibility?” Alex shifted in his chair, buying a moment of air. “When would this study actually start?” Dr. Weiss’s expression flickered into something that looked almost like satisfaction. “Officially, next Monday. That’s when the structured testing begins. But participants are welcome to move in earlier. In fact, I encourage it. Settling in, bonding with the group, adjusting to the facility — all of that makes the real start smoother.” Alex nodded, chewing on the inside of his cheek. He hesitated, then pushed himself to ask the question that had been scratching at him since she mentioned housing. “Would it be possible to… see it? The accommodations, I mean. Just to get an idea before I decide.” Dr. Weiss tilted her head. For a heartbeat Alex worried she’d refuse — that she’d call it premature, or accuse him of not being serious. Instead, her lips curved into a tight smile. “Of course. Transparency is important, within the limits of confidentiality. A brief tour can be arranged. Consider it… a glimpse of what your life here could be.” She rose from her chair in one sharp movement, lab coat swaying around her knees. “Come. You’ll meet the residential wing.” Alex stood too quickly, nearly bumping his knee against the desk. His heart drummed against his ribs as he followed her toward the door. Out in the hallway, the air seemed colder, quieter. The receptionist was gone, and the hum of distant machinery filled the silence. Dr. Weiss walked briskly, heels clicking against the polished floor. “The living quarters are separate from the labs,” she explained. “No sterile white walls, no constant clinical atmosphere. We want our participants comfortable. Relaxed. Productive.” Her words were smooth, rehearsed — but Alex couldn’t shake the sense that every sentence was also part of a pitch. The residential wing sat behind another locked door, which Dr. Weiss opened with a quick swipe of her badge. Alex stepped inside and immediately caught the smell: sharp, chemical, familiar. Disinfectant. It was the same odor as hospital corridors, only diluted enough to feel slightly wrong, like someone had sprayed perfume over bleach. The hall was lined with rooms on either side. Most doors were closed, but one or two stood ajar. Through the gaps, Alex glimpsed hospital-style beds — metal frames, thin mattresses, each with a console of monitoring equipment bolted discreetly to the wall. No posters, no decorations. Just the sterile sameness of a clinic. Still, it wasn’t entirely empty. In one room, a jacket was thrown across the bedrail. In another, a half-finished bottle of soda stood on the desk. A pair of sneakers sat under a chair, laces undone. Alex slowed his pace, registering the details. So, some of the others are already here. He noticed the cameras too — black domes tucked into corners, red lights winking faintly. Remote surveillance. Always watching. Dr. Weiss gestured at a door left fully open. “This would be yours, if you joined. Functional, safe, equipped with everything necessary.” Alex peered in. The room looked like every other: bed, desk, wardrobe, overhead light that was too bright. No curtains. No warmth. “The recreation lounge,” she continued briskly, guiding him further down the hall, “is where participants spend most of their free time.” The lounge was large, and at first sight almost homely compared to the bedrooms. A ping-pong table occupied the center, paddles left on its surface. A shelf held a scattering of board games, some boxes missing pieces. Against one wall, exercise machines formed a modest gym corner — treadmill, weights, yoga mats. “This is where the group relaxes,” Dr. Weiss explained, her tone clipped but insistent. “Shared meals, games, conversations. Bonds form quickly. The environment is designed to foster collaboration, not isolation.” Alex nodded, though his eyes kept drifting back to the cameras perched above the lounge too. Even here, the so-called family space, privacy was an illusion. He ran a hand along the edge of the ping-pong table, the rubber net stretching slightly under his fingers. He tried to picture himself laughing with five strangers here after a long day, while knowing a silent audience was recording every gesture. It felt less like a home, more like a carefully constructed set. As Dr. Weiss spoke, Alex’s attention drifted to a cart left parked against the wall near the recreation lounge. Stainless steel, on smooth-rolling wheels, the kind of thing he’d seen in hospital wards. Neatly stacked on its shelves were sealed packs of supplies. He stepped closer, curiosity tugging stronger than his caution. Among the items — disposable gloves, disinfectant wipes, packets of sensors — his gaze froze on a stack of thick, folded garments in sterile plastic wrapping. Diapers. But not like the ones he remembered from childhood babysitting jobs. These looked… engineered. The outer layer was smooth, with faint printed grids that reminded him of calibration charts. Embedded along the waistband were what looked like adhesive strips of conductive fabric, glinting faintly under the overhead lights. The padding inside was visibly thicker than ordinary, swelling the folded shape until it seemed rigid. There were even small color-coded tags — blue, green, yellow — that suggested multiple models or sizes. Alex’s throat tightened. These weren’t for elderly patients in a nursing home. Not here. Not in this wing. He turned to Dr. Weiss, forcing his voice to sound casual. “Uh… those supplies. They’re for the participants?” Weiss followed his glance, then gave a short nod, as if he’d pointed out something as mundane as a chair. “Yes. Some of the devices we test are designed to support patients with severe memory lapses. Incontinence is a reality of late-stage dementia, as you surely know. The garments are fitted with moisture sensors and biometric patches. They track incidents, comfort levels, even hydration status.” She stepped toward the cart, picked one up by its package, and held it almost like a demonstration piece. “They’re thick because the padding integrates smart polymers that absorb and redistribute fluids, preventing skin breakdown. Expensive technology, but necessary. For our volunteers, it’s about simulation. Experiencing the practical side of living with cognitive decline — not just reading about it in a textbook.” She set the package back neatly and turned her gaze on Alex. “You look concerned. Don’t be. You wouldn’t wear them daily. Only during targeted trials. And always under clinical supervision.” Alex nodded stiffly, though his stomach churned. The idea of walking around in one of those things — monitored, recorded, evaluated — struck him as far more invasive than the blurred-vision goggles or weighted gloves Weiss had mentioned earlier. Yet her tone made it sound inevitable. Alex let out a slow breath. “I… appreciate the tour. And your explanations. But it’s a lot. I’d really need more time to think about this before making a decision.” Dr. Weiss studied him for a long moment, her sharp gaze unreadable. Then, unexpectedly, she softened her posture, tilting her head slightly. “More time,” she echoed. “That’s fair. Decisions like this shouldn’t be rushed.” Alex blinked, surprised she was letting it go so easily. But then she smiled — quick, efficient, almost predatory. “Why don’t we do this instead? One of our participants is already on your campus. She’s a second-year. Very bright, very engaged. Why not meet her this evening? Have dinner, ask your questions directly. Hear it not from me, but from someone living the experience.” Alex hesitated. “Meet… another participant?” “Yes. If you like the idea, I can arrange the appointment immediately. The restaurant bill will be covered by the project, of course.” Her tone sharpened again, slipping back into persuasion. “Think of it as field research, Alex. You don’t trust sales pitches — fine. But you do trust data, don’t you? Talk to someone in the trial. Then decide.” She folded her hands on the desk, the faintest flicker of triumph in her eyes. “Well? Shall I set it up?” The restaurant was small, tucked in a side street just off campus — the kind of place students liked for its all-you-can-eat sushi deals and loud atmosphere. Alex arrived a little early, nervous, and spotted her almost immediately: a girl with cropped brown hair, sitting at a low table near the back. “You must be Alex. Claudia told me you were curious.” She introduced herself as Nora, a second-year veterinary student. They ordered ramen, skewers, and, almost without thinking, a couple of draft beers. The first sip loosened Alex’s nerves. By the second glass, conversation flowed. Nora was blunt, funny, the kind of person who made honesty feel like camaraderie. “Here’s what you need to know,” she said, pointing her chopsticks at him for emphasis. “Claudia — Dr. Weiss — always starts soft. Easy stuff. Goggles, gloves, a few pills that just make you a little foggy. Then she pushes. Each week, a little deeper. The trials get more embarrassing. And she loves testing the ones with weaker spines. That’s her game — pressure. See how far you’ll bend.” Alex chuckled, though part of him wasn’t sure if it was the beer or the absurdity. “So it’s like… psychological poker?” “Exactly.” Nora clinked her glass against his. “She plays you, and most people don’t even realize until they’re too far in.” Despite the warning, Alex felt himself relaxing. Nora’s laughter, the warm bitterness of the beer, the crowded hum of the place — it made everything seem less clinical, less threatening. For the first time since stepping into Weiss’s office, he thought: maybe this wouldn’t be so bad if people like her are around. But then, as he leaned back, he noticed something. Just a flicker beneath her dress when she shifted in her seat — a faint outline, bulky where it shouldn’t be. His eyes lingered a beat too long. Nora caught him. She grinned, wicked and unashamed. “Yeah. You saw it.” Alex blinked, heat rising in his face. “I’m wearing one,” she said, lowering her voice just slightly, though without embarrassment. “Not because I need to. I’m not incontinent. But… it’s convenient. Don’t have to break sessions. And after a while, you get used to it. Even like it.” She raised her glass and took a long sip, as if to punctuate the statement. Alex laughed nervously, the alcohol smoothing over his instinctive discomfort. A part of him wanted to recoil, but another part — warmed by the beer and Nora’s easy confidence — thought: maybe it’s not so strange if she can talk about it like that. The conversation drifted back to classes, professors, campus gossip. Nora was lively, engaging, and Alex found himself smiling more than he expected. Yet beneath the buzz of alcohol, a seed of unease remained. If this was what counted as “normal” after just a few weeks in the study, what would he look like at the end of the semester? Halfway through his third beer, Alex felt the pressure building. He shifted in his chair, glanced toward the narrow hallway leading to the toilets, and stood up with an apologetic grin. “Sorry — nature calls.” Nora leaned back, smirking. “Go ahead. I’m fine where I am.” She tapped the side of her dress with two fingers, making her point obvious without saying it outright. Her grin widened at his embarrassed look. “Perks of the program.” Alex laughed weakly and threaded through the crowd toward the bathroom. When he returned a few minutes later, Nora had ordered another round, and the conversation slipped back into a steady rhythm — until she tilted her head, watching him more seriously this time. “Alright, Alex. Let’s be real.” She swirled her beer, foam clinging to the rim. “If you don’t sign up with Claudia, what are your alternatives? You said you’re broke. No family in the city. No cheap housing left near campus.” Alex hesitated, shrugging. “I mean… I could maybe try to find a roommate, or commute from further out. It’d be a pain, but—” Nora cut in smoothly. “But you’d lose time. Energy. Money. You came here for biomed, right? You want to focus on that, not waste hours on a train. This project gives you free housing, a stipend, and yeah, some weirdness. But you’ll also learn a ton. And honestly? Having people around makes it easier than living alone in some moldy shoebox apartment.” She leaned closer, her tone softening. “Look, I get it. The stuff we do is… unconventional. But if you’re strong enough to handle it, it’s worth it. If you’re not… Claudia will find a way to make you stronger.” Alex stared into his beer, the bitter taste coating his tongue. He couldn’t deny the logic in her words. The options weren’t many. They left the restaurant with the late-night crowd spilling onto the sidewalk. Alex, buoyed by the beer and Nora’s easy confidence, felt strangely lighter. He still had doubts, but when Nora hugged him goodbye and pressed a quick kiss against his forehead—warm, sisterly—something inside him settled. He finally nodded. "I'm sold." “See you tomorrow, housemate,” she said with a grin. That night, back on the way to her room, Nora tapped out a message to Claudia. Nora: He’s in. Moves in tomorrow. There was no delay before Claudia’s reply arrived. Claudia: Good. I knew he’d listen to you. You have a gift for making people comfortable. Nora smiled faintly, then hesitated before typing again. Nora: It’s getting harder to hide how much I’ve… adjusted. Today at dinner, I couldn’t even imagine going without anymore. Another pause. Then Claudia’s message, calm and certain: Claudia: That’s not a weakness, Nora. It’s progress. You’re integrating the tools, just as we designed. You’ve earned something extra tomorrow—consider it recognition. I’ll take care of you personally. Nora locked her phone, exhaled slowly, and sank into bed. She felt a tug of shame, but stronger still was the glow of reassurance: Claudia saw her, understood her, and—most dangerously—made her feel safe. The next afternoon Alex arrived at the facility with two bags slung over his shoulders. The subway ride had felt strangely shorter than the day before, though his nerves were heavier. Weiss had left instructions at the gate. The guard waved him through without much more than a glance. Inside, the clinical smell hit him again — disinfectant, plastic, the faint whirr of ventilation. He followed the signs to the accommodation quarters, a wide corridor lined with small, numbered rooms. Nora was already there, sitting cross-legged on one of the couches in the recreation area. She waved at him like they’d been friends for months. “Look who made it. Welcome home.” Three others were scattered in the space. The first was sprawled confidently in an armchair, tossing a stress ball from hand to hand. Tall, broad-shouldered, with an easy grin — he introduced himself as Diego, an architecture student. Within minutes, he was leaning toward Nora with an exaggerated wink. “So, since we’re housemates now, guess we should figure out who’s claiming the best couch for movie nights, huh?” he said. Nora rolled her eyes, unimpressed. “You wish.” The second, a thinner guy with glasses, sat at the edge of a chair like he wasn’t sure if he belonged there. He introduced himself quietly: Mark, mechanical engineering. His handshake was tentative, and he almost dropped his water bottle when Alex tried to sit beside him. Still, he smiled, clearly doing his best not to look out of place. The third was a girl tucked in the corner with a laptop balanced on her knees. The screen’s glow lit her tired face as she typed furiously, earbuds in. When Alex offered a polite “Hi,” she spared half a glance, mumbled something, and went straight back to typing. “That’s Lea,” Nora explained in a low voice. “She’s always working on something. Don’t take it personally.” The group dynamic was immediately visible: Diego filling the space with loud jokes, Mark hovering at the margins, Lea lost in her own world, and Nora holding her ground without effort. Alex dropped his bags in an empty room — bare walls, hospital bed, thin sheets, and a camera discreetly tucked into the ceiling corner. When he came back out, Diego was trying again with Nora, Mark was fiddling nervously with his phone, and Lea hadn’t moved an inch. For the first time, Alex realized this wasn’t just about housing or studies. These people weren’t random. They were pieces of a puzzle Weiss was putting together. And now he was one of them. Alex cleared his throat. “So… I count five of us. Weren’t there supposed to be six?” For a beat, nobody answered. Mark shifted uncomfortably. Diego shrugged. “Yeah, there’s another. She’s not around.” Alex frowned. “Not around?” Nora finally spoke, her tone casual but just a shade too controlled. “She left. Had to step away for a bit. But she’ll be back when the actual sessions begin.” Alex caught the flicker in her expression — like she was editing herself mid-sentence. “Do you know why she left?” Nora tossed the ping pong ball into the air, caught it smoothly. “It happens. Some people get cold feet, some need a break. You’ll see her soon enough.” The way she said it made clear she knew more. But she wasn’t about to share. Diego broke the silence with a grin. “Hey, don’t overthink it, new guy. Better to worry about what Claudia’s gonna throw at us tomorrow than the mystery roommate.” Alex forced a laugh, but the thought stuck. One participant gone, leaving behind only vague explanations. And Nora’s eyes — steady, kind, but guarded — told him not everything about this “family” was meant to be spoken out loud. Mark broke the ice by complaining with a grin: “Man, those questionnaires. I thought I was signing up for a mortgage, not a study.” Diego laughed. “Right? Pages and pages — allergies, family history, medications, all that stuff. I almost wrote too much coffee under current conditions.” Lea didn’t look up from her laptop but muttered, “Don’t joke, I actually listed caffeine.” Nora smirked and added, “That’s standard, though. Every medical trial starts with that pile of forms. Plus vitals check. Didn’t you enjoy being measured like lab rats? Weight, height, pulse… Next time they’ll tattoo a barcode on our wrists.” Alex nodded, remembering the nurse — efficient, silent, all business — who had wrapped the cuff around his arm and noted his numbers before letting him go. It had all felt routine, almost boring, yet undeniably clinical. And the truth was, halfway through the endless questions, he’d stopped reading carefully and just clicked “no” by default. It felt harmless at the time, but the thought of what he might have overlooked briefly nagged at him now. Alex picked up a paddle almost without thinking, rolling the small white ball across the table toward Nora. She raised an eyebrow, caught it in one smooth motion, and grinned. “Ready to get crushed?” she teased. “Bring it on.” The first rally was clumsy, both of them laughing more than focusing. But the sound of the ball echoing in the common room caught Diego’s attention. “Oh, no way you’re playing without me!” He jumped up from the armchair, grabbing another paddle. “We should do this properly. A tournament.” Mark shifted in his seat, hesitant at first, but then adjusted his glasses and stood up. “I’m… okay at it.” Within minutes, they had a round-robin set up. Lea didn’t even glance away from her laptop when asked if she wanted in. The matches went quickly, laughter and groans bouncing between them. Nora had decent reflexes, Diego was competitive but inconsistent, Alex surprised himself with a couple of sharp shots— but Mark dominated. He didn’t just win, he dismantled them, his smashes sharp and perfectly placed. By the time the others were catching their breath, he shrugged modestly. “I play in a league. Nothing professional, but… yeah, competitive.” Diego whistled. “Dude, you sandbagged us.” Mark gave a small, embarrassed smile, the tension in his posture easing just a little. While two of them played, the other two sprawled on the couch, grabbing sodas and snacks from the kitchenette. The fridge was stocked with cans, fruit, and a basket of packaged appetizers—small comforts in the otherwise clinical space. Alex leaned back with Nora, watching Mark and Diego go at it. “Not bad for our first night,” he said. Nora sipped her soda, eyes following the match. “It’ll get harder,” she replied. “Better enjoy this while it’s still just games.” Her tone was casual, but Alex couldn’t shake the sense she meant more than ping pong. An electronic chime rang through the corridor just before dinner, sharp enough to interrupt Diego mid-story. A small display on the wall lit up: “Orientation – Canteen A.” “Guess that’s us,” Nora said, already on her feet. She swiped her badge at the door and held it open. The others exchanged glances — none of them had access yet. The canteen was just outside their quarters: a rectangular room with plain white tables and a buffet counter that smelled faintly of reheated vegetables. At the far end, Dr. Weiss was waiting, flanked by two assistants in identical white coats. She looked sharper than the day Alex first met her, hair pulled back into a neat knot, eyes cool and alert. On the table in front of her lay a stack of slim envelopes and a small tray of plastic ID badges. “Good evening,” she said, her voice clipped but not unfriendly. “I hope you’re all settling in. This will be your home for the next months, so it’s important we set expectations from day one.” They gathered around as she handed out the envelopes — each with their names printed in block letters — and then the badges, smooth plastic with photos already embedded. Alex felt a small jolt as she pressed his into his hand: his face, official now, stamped with the company logo. “These will open all doors relevant to your living and testing spaces,” Weiss explained. “Other areas remain restricted. Please respect the access levels. Security here is comprehensive, and violations are not tolerated.” The two assistants distributed a set of forms — dense, multipage documents filled with clauses and acknowledgments. Alex flipped through his, scanning bolded phrases: Compliance… Monitoring… Temporary side effects… Confidentiality. Weiss continued, walking slowly behind their chairs as though pacing her words into them. “The detailed personal programs will be discussed with each of you individually once the study formally begins next week. For now, you need only understand the general framework: you will live here full-time, attend scheduled group and individual sessions, and comply with both medical and behavioral protocols.” Diego raised his hand in mock-schoolboy style. “Behavioral protocols?” Weiss gave him a thin smile. “Curfews, attendance, interaction limits during certain test phases. Nothing unusual in a controlled trial. You’ll be briefed as we progress.” Nora nodded quietly, already familiar. Mark fidgeted with his pen, Lea jotted something on her laptop without looking up. Alex, for his part, kept rereading the paperwork. His chest tightened as he noticed line after line about monitoring methods, adherence checks, controlled administration of experimental procedures. Weiss finally rested her hands on the table, leaning forward. “I want you to think of this as a community project. Each of you is essential. Each of you brings a perspective that will shape the final outcome. But that only works if you respect the system. The rules are there to keep you safe, and to make sure your feedback is meaningful.” Her gaze swept over them, landing briefly on Alex. He swallowed hard. When the briefing ended, the assistants collected signed forms into neat stacks, and Weiss dismissed them with a brisk nod. “Dinner is ready. Enjoy it. On monday we begin.” As they filed toward the buffet, Alex clipped his badge onto his shirt. It felt heavier than it should. The buffet spread wasn’t much to brag about — trays of pasta under heat lamps, bread rolls in plastic baskets, a pot of soup that smelled vaguely of chicken stock. Still, after the briefing’s intensity, everyone seemed glad to just have plates in front of them. Lea surprised everyone by finally closing her laptop and sliding into a seat at the table. She chose the chair right beside Nora, casually placing her tray down before Diego could get there. Diego hesitated for a second, then covered it with a grin and dropped into the seat across from her, directly in Nora’s line of sight. Alex, carrying his own plate, sat down on Nora’s other side, while Mark drifted to the edge of the table and quietly positioned himself opposite Lea. For a moment, the only sound was the clinking of cutlery. Then Diego broke the silence with an exaggerated sigh. “Okay, not to be rude, but what is this supposed to be? Pasta or some kind of government-issued carb glue?” That cracked the ice. Even Lea laughed, shaking her head. “Trust me, if you think this is bad, you haven’t seen campus cafeteria food on exam week.” Diego leaned forward. “Oh, so you do talk!” Lea rolled her eyes but smiled. “Sorry. I’m Lea. Information technologies, third year. I live not far from here, so… yeah, I guess I’m not as desperate for free housing as some of you.” She glanced around the table, a quick acknowledgment, then added, “I just have a lot on my plate right now. Deadlines.” Alex nodded, relieved to finally hear her voice without the clicking of keys in the background. “What kind of stuff do you work on?” Lea smirked. “Security systems, mostly. Networks, encryption, intrusion detection… the kind of things that make sure places like this don’t get hacked.” That pulled a reaction from Nora. “No kidding? I could’ve used you last year. Spent an entire month trying to fix my laptop after a ransomware scare. Lost half my class notes.” The two of them launched into an animated exchange — Nora describing the disaster in playful detail, Lea countering with half-serious, half-joking explanations of how easily it could’ve been avoided. Their energy bounced back and forth with natural ease, Lea’s earlier reserve melting away under Nora’s attention. Alex watched, half amused, half curious. There was a rhythm forming between them, subtle but noticeable. Nora leaned in, genuinely engaged, and Lea’s eyes brightened as she explained her world with a confidence he hadn’t seen in the common room. Diego tried to break in a couple of times, tossing in jokes, but the flow barely shifted. Mark stayed quiet, methodically working through his meal, though he seemed to be listening closely. By the time the plates were nearly empty, the conversation had drifted to the city itself — where to find good late-night coffee, which subway stations were safest after dark, which bars catered to students versus locals. Nora, with her year of experience, carried the stories, while Lea added practical tips from her neighborhood perspective. Together, they painted a picture of the city that was equal parts welcoming and daunting. For Alex, it was the first time since arriving that he felt like he was actually here — not just drifting between flyers, signatures, and white walls. The last scraps of bread disappeared from the table, and the conversation wound down into a comfortable lull. Alex leaned back, feeling both full and slightly dazed from all the chatter — and, more urgently, from the three sodas he’d downed without thinking. A pressure in his bladder suddenly left him with little choice. He cleared his throat, shifting in his chair. “Uh—excuse me a minute, I need to…” Before he could even finish, Diego groaned and pushed back his seat. “Man, same here. Too much sugar water.” Mark stood too, almost sheepishly. “Yeah. Me too.” The three of them shuffled toward the restroom signs like an impromptu parade, trays still half-stacked on the table behind them. Left alone at the table, Nora and Lea exchanged a glance. It lasted only a second, but it carried a whole unspoken sentence. Lea arched an eyebrow; Nora smirked, tilting her head slightly. By the time Alex was pushing open the restroom door, the faint sound of their muffled laughter trailed after him. When Alex returned, sliding into his chair, he caught it — that faint flicker between Nora and Lea. The glance, the tiny curl of their smiles. Like they were both in on something he wasn’t. He felt it in his chest, equal parts pull and recoil. Curiosity burned, but so did embarrassment. How could he possibly ask, outright, in front of Diego and Mark, So… what’s with the diapers? Instead, he latched onto the first excuse that came to mind. He picked up a paddle from the side counter and turned to Mark. “Hey, you’re the pro, right? Think you could give me a quick lesson? Just so I don’t look completely hopeless next time.” Mark blinked, then adjusted his glasses and nodded. “Uh… sure. Let’s work on your grip.” The table became their little stage. Diego leaned back, hands behind his head, but when he saw Alex trying, he snorted. “No way I’m letting you hog the coach. I’m next.” The three of them set up in an easy rotation, Alex feigning reluctance as he handed his paddle over to Diego after a few rounds. “Guess I’ll let you suffer through his drills,” he said with a grin. Then, casually, almost like drifting, Alex wandered away from the table. He circled toward where Nora and Lea still sat, their trays pushed aside, half-empty soda cans between them. They looked up as he approached, and Nora’s smile widened just enough to feel intentional. Alex hesitated, heart beating faster, then lowered his voice. “Mind if I join you two for a bit?” Lea gestured at the empty chair across from them. “Sure. You survived Mark’s boot camp?” Alex laughed, sitting down. “Barely. He’s brutal.” But beneath the easy banter, his thoughts were elsewhere, circling the thing he couldn’t quite say yet. Alex sat down, still buzzing from the game, but his mind wasn’t on ping pong anymore. His palms were damp. He fiddled with the soda can in front of him, trying to summon the nerve. Nora and Lea were talking quietly about a concert venue in town, their words blurring in his ears. Finally, he blurted it out, too quickly: “So… earlier, that look you two shared. Was it—uh, is it about… the diapers thing?” Both girls froze, then turned to him in unison. Nora’s smirk returned instantly, as if she’d been waiting for this. Lea’s expression was more guarded, but not surprised. Nora leaned her elbows on the table. “Straight to the point, huh? Took you less time than I expected.” Alex flushed. “I just… I don’t get it. Is this part of the tests already, or…?” Lea shook her head, her tone calm. “Not officially. Not yet.” She glanced at Nora, then added, “But sometimes convenience overlaps with curiosity.” Nora laughed, tapping the table with a fingernail. “For me, it started as a trial run. Claudia wanted to see how long volunteers could tolerate it, what it does to routines, to confidence. Then I realized—honestly—it’s kind of freeing. No running to the bathroom in the middle of a lecture, or a movie, or a subway ride. You just… let go, deal with it later.” Alex blinked, heat rising in his cheeks. “And you don’t… find that embarrassing?” “Sure,” Nora said with a shrug, “at first. But embarrassment fades. You’d be surprised how quickly.” Lea shifted in her seat, voice quieter. “For me, it was different. I’m practical. I had long coding nights, deadlines, barely time to eat, let alone waste breaks. So, I experimented. And it worked. Eventually, it wasn’t strange anymore, just another tool.” Her gaze flicked up at him, sharp. “But don’t misunderstand. Nobody here is forced into it. The study doesn’t start like that. These are just… choices we made. Ways to test ourselves.” Alex swallowed, words tangled in his throat. He felt both fascinated and unsettled, an odd magnetism pulling him closer even as part of him wanted to recoil. Nora leaned back, her grin widening. “You’re wondering if you could handle it, right?” Alex opened his mouth, but no sound came. Alex’s tongue felt glued to the roof of his mouth. His soda was warm now, untouched, his fingers tightening around the can. Across from him, Nora’s grin only grew sharper, the kind of grin that told him she already knew what he was thinking. Lea, meanwhile, seemed quiet, but her eyes lingered on Nora with an intensity that made Alex’s stomach twist. The muffled sound of paddles and Diego’s laugh echoed from the ping-pong table. Time was running out. If he didn’t speak now, the window would close, and the subject would vanish back into silence. He took a shaky breath. “Okay… fine. I mean—I guess I am… kind of curious. About what it feels like. About why you’d—why anyone would choose that.” Nora’s smirk turned into a slow, satisfied smile. She leaned forward, chin resting on her hand, eyes sparkling. “There it is. Took some guts to say it out loud.” Her voice dropped, playful, almost purring. “That curiosity? That’s exactly where it starts.” Alex flushed crimson. His chest felt hot. Lea didn’t laugh. She sat straighter, folding her hands around her soda can, watching Nora as if cataloguing every flicker of her expression. Then, softly, she said, “You see why Claudia likes her, right? She doesn’t need rules or pressure. She nudges, and people… bend.” Nora chuckled, not denying it. “Don’t make it sound sinister, Lea. I’m just honest. And he asked.” Alex’s voice was small, uncertain. “So it’s not… horrible? Like, it doesn’t feel degrading?” Nora tilted her head, eyes glinting. “Sometimes it is degrading. That’s part of it. But other times it’s just… liberating. Depends on the day. Depends on you.” Lea’s lips curved faintly, not at Alex, but at Nora. “See? She’s glowing.” Alex swallowed, acutely aware of his heartbeat. He glanced toward the ping pong table—Diego had just scored a point and was whooping loud enough to cover their corner. Still a minute or two. His voice dropped lower. “And you think… I’d get used to it?” Nora leaned even closer, close enough that Alex caught the faintest trace of her perfume under the sterilized air of the canteen. “You’d be surprised how quickly curiosity turns into habit.” Alex had barely finished his question when Nora leaned in, eyes gleaming. “See, that’s exactly the mistake rookies make. They wait. They think they’ll ease into it when the program starts. But by then? You’re stumbling through the early days, tripping over your own shame. It shows.” She tapped her finger against the table, each word landing like a little challenge. “Better to try now. Get over the hump early. That way, when the real testing kicks in, you’re already a pro.” Alex blinked, pulse drumming. “A pro…?” “Yeah,” Nora said, flashing a grin. “Somebody who doesn’t waste energy blushing or panicking. Somebody who’s already figured out their own limits. That’s valuable. To you and to Claudia.” Lea tilted her head, studying Nora’s face more than Alex’s. “You make it sound like a competitive sport.” “It kind of is,” Nora shot back, smirk widening. “And he doesn’t strike me as the type who likes to lose.” Alex laughed nervously, but it came out strangled. He looked toward the ping-pong table: Diego was still pushing Mark hard, but the match was winding down. Not much time. His chance to retreat, to delay, was vanishing. Lea finally met his eyes. Her voice was calm, almost soothing, but there was no escape in it. “She’s right about one thing. Waiting only makes it harder.” Alex’s throat was dry. “So you’re both saying I should…?” Nora’s smile softened, but the glint in her eyes didn’t. “I’m saying—be smart. Better to stumble now, when it doesn’t count, than later, when everyone’s watching.” The word everyone lingered in the air, heavy, suggestive. Nora stretched back in her chair, as if the whole matter were already decided. “Tell you what, Alex. Why don’t you go brush your teeth now, take care of the bathroom, get all that out of the way for tonight…” Her smile sharpened. “…so I can slip a little gift under your cushion. That way, you won’t have to second-guess yourself anymore.” Alex’s stomach lurched. “A—gift?” Lea finally broke into a small, almost shy laugh. “You do realize the tabs can be tricky, right? First time, you’ll probably either tape them too loose, and it leaks… or too tight, and you’ll hate it.” She looked at him evenly, her expression calm, almost professional. “If it’s meant to be a real test, it should at least be fitted properly. I could help. No shame in that.” Her words were cool, but Alex caught something else in her tone—an undercurrent that wasn’t clinical at all. Nora leaned closer, chin propped on her hand, eyes glittering. “See? You’ve got experts volunteering to guide you. Honestly, you’re spoiled.” The match at the ping pong table was ending; Diego’s voice rang out with a frustrated curse, Mark answering with a triumphant laugh. Alex’s heart thudded faster. Any second now, the others would drift back toward the couches, the food, the chatter. He swallowed, every nerve in him screaming both no and maybe. But the weight of their eyes, Nora’s expectant grin, Lea’s steady gaze—he couldn’t hold against it. “…Okay,” he said, the word small, almost swallowed. Nora’s smile bloomed victorious. Lea’s lips curled in a subtle, satisfied arc. The five of them slouched onto the big sectional couch after the ping pong match. Someone flipped on the TV, though nobody really watched—conversation carried the evening. Mark was still buzzing from his wins, retelling the best rallies with broad gestures, his extroversion filling the room. Nora humored him, tossing back a few playful jabs, while Lea’s deadpan comments drew bursts of laughter. Alex noticed Diego. The architecture student sat a little apart, shoulders tense, smiling faintly whenever Mark’s energy pulled the group along. But his eyes wandered, always drifting toward Nora. Every time she laughed at something Alex said, or when Lea leaned subtly closer to their side of the couch, Diego’s jaw tightened. He tried hard to keep a neutral facade—he didn’t want to look envious—but the undercurrent was obvious. Alex felt the current running beneath their chatter. A secret promise was humming just below the surface, one only he and the two girls shared. When Alex finally retreated to his assigned room, the corridor felt colder, the air tinged with antiseptic. He closed the door behind him and sat on the bed, heart racing. The “gift” was already waiting under his pillow: folded thick, perfectly square, its surface white and faintly crinkly under his fingers. He pulled it out, and the sheer size of it hit him. Much bulkier than he had imagined—broad wings, dense padding that felt cloudlike yet structured. The outer layer was strangely high-tech: soft, but with a faint synthetic slickness. The landing zone for the tapes was reinforced, almost industrial in its precision. How do Nora and Lea even conceal this under normal clothes? Alex wondered. Earlier at dinner, even slouched on the couch, neither of them had given the slightest clue. He lay back on the bed, settling onto the garment. The padding pushed up against him, alien and intimate. He drew the wide front panel over himself, awkwardly holding it in place. With shaky hands, he grabbed his phone: I’m ready. Come in. Moments later: a knock. When he opened, both Nora and Lea stepped inside. Nora wore a grin sharp as a blade; Lea’s face was calmer, professional almost, though her eyes betrayed amusement. “Well,” Nora said, striding in, “looks like our freshman made it to the advanced class.” Lea set her bag down quietly. “Don’t panic. It’s just mechanics.” Nora perched at the bed’s edge, watching Alex lie back on the unfolded diaper. “Rule one: relax. Fight it and it’ll just feel worse.” Lea knelt, voice steady. “You’ve placed it correctly, that’s good. Now—” She guided his hands. “Bring these wings over evenly. Not too tight, not too loose.” Her fingers brushed against his, fastening one tape with calm precision. “See? Smooth. If it’s crooked, you’ll regret it later.” Nora leaned in, eyes sparkling as she tugged at the opposite side. “And here’s where most people mess up. You don’t yank—just… guide it. Like this.” She pressed the tape down firmly. “Perfect.” Alex’s pulse thundered. Every sensation was magnified—the soft bulk between his thighs, the faint rustle, the warmth of their hands adjusting and smoothing. Lea sat back, satisfied. “There. Snug fit. No leaks. You could sleep through anything.” Nora tilted her head, smirk widening. “And now you’ve officially crossed the line. Welcome to the family, rookie.” Alex lay flat on the hospital bed, staring at the ceiling, the faint red glow of the surveillance camera blinking in the corner. He shifted; the crinkle of the padding echoed absurdly loud in the sterile silence. The garment’s sheer bulk pressed into him from every side. The elastic gathers hugged his thighs, soft but unyielding, while the thick front panel rose absurdly high, almost to his navel, cocooning him in its grip. The texture was strangely luxurious—puffy, cloudlike—but its immensity left no doubt: there was no escaping it. Every time he moved, the rustle reminded him of its presence. It was at once comfort and prison. His thoughts wandered back to Nora and Lea. They were just down the hall, lying in their own identical beds, cocooned in the same bulky protection. The thought made his chest tighten—an odd mixture of reassurance and intimacy. They were bound together by this secret, this ridiculous shared condition. It was, in its own bizarre way, a kind of uniform. A social bond. And yet, beneath the comfort lurked another sensation. The dense padding pressed against him constantly, a dull, diffuse stimulation. Enough to heighten his awareness, to set his body humming. But every attempt his imagination made to push further was blocked by the very structure that excited him—the bulk acted like a cage, enclosing him in frustration. The paradox of it all seemed perfectly in line with the atmosphere of the trial: control, surveillance, a clinical framework dictating even the most intimate of experiences. He glanced once more at the camera. Who’s watching right now? Who’s logging this data, interpreting my restlessness as metrics on a clipboard? Exhaustion eventually blurred the edges of his thoughts. He drifted into a dream—vivid but impossible to hold onto. His new quarters stretched into endless sterile corridors, the faces of his companions appeared and vanished, their laughter warped into mechanical echoes. At one point he was sure Nora’s smirk and Claudia’s cold eyes merged into one, watching him from behind two-way glass. But when the morning light filtered in and Alex’s eyes opened, all of it was gone. Only the sensation remained: the lingering weight around his hips, the warmth against his skin, and the strange, irreversible feeling that he now belonged to this place. A dull light seeped through the blinds, pulling Alex out of the haze of restless sleep. For a moment, he lay still, half convinced the heavy warmth wrapped around his waist was part of the dream. Then the faint rustle as he shifted confirmed it wasn’t. His bladder throbbed with urgency. He winced, clutching his abdomen, and the thought crept in uninvited: I could just… let go. The garment seemed built for it—layers upon layers of softness, snug gathers sealing him in. All he’d have to do was relax. Nora’s mocking grin and Lea’s calm, matter-of-fact tone replayed in his head: better to try now… tabs can be tricky… spoiled for choice. But the thought made his chest tighten. No. Not yet. Not like this. With a grimace, Alex swung himself upright, the padding sagging awkwardly between his thighs. He tore the tapes free, wincing at the ripping sound, and peeled the bulk away. Relief swept through him at the sight: the front panel still pristine, the wetness indicator an unbroken line, the inner padding completely dry. Good. No trace. No data point. He balled it up, instinct urging him to toss it straight into the wastebasket. His hand hovered there. Then doubt pressed in. If Nora checked later, if Lea asked—what would he say? That he had quit before even giving it a chance? That he’d wasted the thing they had insisted on helping him with? His throat tightened. Slowly, he folded the bulky garment into a neat square, tucking the wings carefully inside. Then, after a glance around the empty room, he slid it under his cushion. Out of sight, but not discarded. As he dressed in his regular clothes, the phantom weight still clung to his hips, a reminder that the decision wasn’t gone—just postponed. As Alex slipped into his jeans and hoodie, he tried to shake off the lingering phantom weight around his hips. Just act normal. Nobody needs to know. He grabbed his phone, but before checking his notifications, he hesitated. Breakfast first. In the quarters next door, Nora’s phone buzzed on the nightstand. She rolled onto her side, hair tangled, eyes still heavy with sleep. The message preview glowed on her screen: Claudia: Dry morning, but he kept it on for the night. A slow grin spread across Nora’s face. She stretched lazily, thumb hovering over the reply field. Her first impulse was to tease, maybe add an emoji, but she thought better of it. Better to keep Alex guessing, better to let the tension build. Instead, she locked the phone, slid it under her pillow, and started planning exactly how to greet him at breakfast. Nora padded into the kitchenette still in her lounge clothes, hair tied in a careless bun. Lea was already there, perched on a stool with her laptop open beside a half-empty mug of tea. “Morning,” Lea muttered without looking up. “Morning,” Nora replied, voice sing-song. She slid onto the stool next to her, set down her phone, and tapped the screen so the message lit up again. “Guess what?” Lea finally looked, eyebrows raised. Nora tilted the phone toward her. Claudia: Dry morning, but he kept it on for the night. For a moment Lea’s expression was unreadable, then the corner of her mouth curved into the faintest smile. She closed her laptop halfway, leaning in a little. “So he didn’t bail out.” “Nope,” Nora said, savoring the words. “Didn’t use it, but he wore it all the way through. That’s what matters.” Lea stirred her tea absentmindedly, eyes glinting. “That’s a start. He’ll feel the difference soon enough.” “Mm-hmm.” Nora leaned back, arms crossed behind her head. “Claudia’s right. He’s one of us now. Whether he likes it or not.” Lea gave her a sharp glance at that phrasing, but didn’t argue. Instead, she pushed the mug away and smirked. “Let’s just say the game is on.” They both looked up as the sound of footsteps echoed in the corridor—Alex, heading their way. The canteen smelled faintly of coffee and toasted bread when Alex walked in with Nora and Lea. The tables were still mostly empty — the others hadn’t arrived yet — so they spread out across one corner and began loading trays with scrambled eggs, fruit, and the little cartons of milk. Alex was halfway through his first sip of orange juice when Diego appeared, all easy grin and loud voice, followed by Mark, who looked more subdued than usual. They slid into places across the table. At first Diego launched into some harmless chatter about the quality of the eggs, but he broke off when he noticed Mark hadn’t touched his tray. Mark was staring at his coffee, pale, his jaw tight. Leaning closer, Diego asked in a half-whisper: “Hey, man. What’s up with you? You look like you saw a ghost.” Mark’s eyes flicked to the corner of the ceiling, where a black dome camera blinked red. His reply was barely audible: “We need to talk. But not here. Outside. No surveillance.” Diego, usually the loudest in any room, froze for a moment at the quiet urgency in Mark’s voice. Then, in an uncharacteristically subdued tone, he said, “Okay. After breakfast.” He straightened up immediately, plastering his usual grin back on as Nora said something witty, trying to pull the conversation toward lighter topics. To anyone watching, it looked like just another morning. But Alex had noticed. He couldn’t miss the unease in Mark’s face, nor the sudden crack in Diego’s extroverted facade. For the first time, the idea of being “a family” inside this place felt thin, like wallpaper covering something darker underneath. So Alex decided to excuse himself for a shower and leave some time for the coffee to cool down. He was going to finish breakfast later. By the time Alex had finished his shower and made his way back to the canteen, also the others had arrived. Lea and Nora were ahead of him in the corridor, their hair still damp, loose around their shoulders in an unstyled, natural way that made them look softer than usual, less guarded. They were chatting together in low, conspiratorial tones, laughter spilling out in bursts. Alex trailed a few steps behind, watching the way they seemed perfectly at ease with each other, as if the previous night’s smirks and glances had already cemented a private alliance. Inside the canteen, the group settled into the same arrangement as the night before, as if the seats had already become their spots: Nora with Lea at her side, Diego slipping into the chair across from them, Mark slightly apart, and Alex naturally ending up next to Nora again. Trays clattered on the buffet line. They picked up the same simple offerings — eggs, bread rolls, fruit, yogurt — with the casual repetition of people already forming a routine. The conversation picked up in a familiar rhythm, too. Diego was loud, throwing jokes across the table and gesturing with his fork. Lea, this time more relaxed than the night before, teased him back while Nora added a dry comment that made both girls laugh. But one detail didn’t quite fit: Mark. He sat straighter than usual, his shoulders tighter, answering questions when addressed but never volunteering anything. He sipped his coffee without looking up, his tray of food barely touched. Alex noticed it — vaguely, at the edges of his attention — but his focus drifted back to the girls, to their loose hair, to the way they leaned toward each other when they laughed. Whatever was weighing on Mark, Alex let it slide past him, another detail blurred in the morning chatter. As the plates emptied and trays clattered back into place, Alex leaned back in his chair. “I think I’ll head to campus later,” he said, keeping his tone casual. “There are a couple of places in town I should check out too. Just… normal errands, you know?” Nora turned toward him, one hand brushing damp hair away from her cheek. “Same direction,” she said without hesitation. “I’ve got to swing by campus anyway. Want to go together?” The offer came lightly, but Alex caught the glint in her eyes. He tried to act as if it were nothing, as if the idea of walking with her didn’t make his pulse quicken. “Sure,” he said, careful to keep his voice level. “Good,” Nora replied, smiling just enough to show she was pleased. “Meet you at the main exit once we’re done here.” They finished breakfast without incident, the group slowly dispersing — Diego tossing one last joke, Lea slipping back toward her laptop, Mark leaving quietly. As Nora walked toward the exit to wait for Alex, she spotted Diego and Mark heading out together through a side door. It wasn’t their leaving that caught her attention — it was Mark’s body language. He wasn’t the reserved, hunched figure of the night before. He was speaking quickly, hands moving as he gestured, the faintest smile flickering across his face. Diego leaned in, listening, no trace of his usual overconfidence. For the first time, Mark looked alive — maybe even animated. The shift was so sharp that Nora slowed her step, watching them vanish around a corner. “Interesting,” she murmured to herself, storing the image away. Nora waited there for an additional couple of minutes, but then, not seeing Alex, decided to head back to the dormitory. After breakfast and a short trip to the washroom, Alex got back to his room, only to find the nurse waiting inside. The same woman who had taken his vitals on the first day and sat silently through the canteen briefing now stood with a clipboard in hand. She was already lifting his cushion, pulling out the folded, unused diaper. “Mr. Fischer,” she said with clipped precision, “you were supposed to mark that you wore this overnight. Not hide it.” Alex froze. His mouth went dry. He wanted to explain, to argue, but before he could make a sound the door creaked. Nora leaned in. “There you are,” she said brightly. “I thought you ditched me.” Then she saw the scene — Alex stiff on his bed, the nurse holding the unmistakable garment. Her lips curled into a slow, knowing smile. She stepped inside and let the door close behind her, clearly not intending to miss whatever was about to unfold. The nurse laid the diaper flat on Alex’s desk like a piece of evidence. “There’s now a disposal bin in your room,” she continued, voice firm. “All used supplies go there. Even if they’re dry. They’re weighed before and after the night for data logging.” Without waiting for Alex’s reaction, she walked to the cupboard, opened it, and began stacking a full week’s worth of thick, high-tech briefs inside — plastic rustling, one after another. Nora’s eyebrows lifted, amused. “Oh, look at that. A whole arsenal. Don’t worry, Alex — it’s just like stocking up for exam season. You’ll get through the pile eventually.” Alex’s ears burned as the cupboard filled. The nurse turned back, clipboard in hand. “I’ve stocked you properly. No excuses.” Alex stammered, “I— I wasn’t sure—” Nora tilted her head, voice lilting with mock sympathy. “Oh, come on. He’s just being cautious. He probably thought he’d save it for a rainy day.” Alex glanced at her in relief, but then her tone shifted ever so slightly. “Still, rules are rules, right? Better he learns early than later. Otherwise he’ll just keep getting into trouble.” The nurse nodded, flipping open his intake forms. “Exactly. Which is why we will carefully review every item. Line by line. I don’t want to discover later that he defaulted through half the answers.” Alex’s stomach sank. He remembered too well how he had skimmed the endless questions, clicking “no” just to get through. Nora leaned back against the wall, crossing her arms. “Don’t be too hard on him,” she said sweetly. “He’s got that boyish tendency to press ‘next’ without reading. He just needs… supervision.” The nurse arched an eyebrow. “And are you volunteering?” Nora grinned. “Oh, I’d be delighted. Someone has to make sure he doesn’t try to hide things under the cushion again.” Alex’s cheeks flamed. She had defended him and betrayed him all in the same breath. The nurse pulled Alex’s intake forms from the clipboard and settled into the chair at his desk as if she owned the room. “Let’s start with allergies,” she said. “Did you read every option?” Alex cleared his throat. “I… I think so.” Her eyes flicked up. “You think?” Before he could stumble further, Nora breezed in, plopping herself onto the foot of his bed, swinging one leg lazily. “Relax,” she said, voice dripping with casual charm. “It could happen to anyone. You give a student a wall of tiny checkboxes, you’re lucky if they make it halfway before their brain taps out.” Alex shot her a grateful look, but then she smirked and added: “Of course, most people don’t have an entire clinical program depending on their answers.” The nurse adjusted her glasses, unimpressed. “So you admit you defaulted?” Alex’s heart kicked. “Well— I may have, on some sections…” “Some?” The nurse’s tone sharpened. “Or all?” He opened his mouth, but no words came out. Nora tilted her head, voice soft as silk: “Oh, don’t corner him like that. He’ll just dig himself deeper. He’s not a liar — he’s just… a skimmer. That’s his tragic flaw.” The nurse flipped to the next page, crisp. “Family history of cardiovascular issues: you answered ‘no’ across the board.” She glanced at him. “Any fainting? Heart palpitations? Dizziness?” Alex shook his head. “No, none of that.” Nora leaned back, stretching, her voice playful but pointed: “Mmh, at least he remembers that part. See? Progress already. Baby steps.” Alex winced. Every time she threw him a rope, she knotted it tighter around his wrists. The nurse kept at it. One by one, she walked him through the forms, and with each line Alex’s omissions piled higher. Food intolerances. Sleep issues. Vision correction. He’d skipped more than he realized. Finally, she set the papers down. “This isn’t optional. Accuracy is critical. If you’re careless, you compromise the trial. And the data. Understood?” “Yes,” Alex muttered. Nora patted his shoulder, mock-gentle. “Don’t be too hard on him. He’ll learn. He just needs… structure. That’s what this place is for, right?” The nurse gave her a long, unreadable look, then stood. “Exactly. Structure.” She closed the cupboard where the week’s worth of thick, crinkling briefs now sat in perfect stacks. “Make sure he follows the program,” she said to Nora on her way out. Nora’s smile widened. “Oh, you can count on me.” The door clicked shut, leaving Alex red-faced, boxed in, and acutely aware that he had just been tethered even tighter — by rules, by paperwork, and by Nora’s watchful eyes. Mark waited until they were a couple of blocks away from the canteen before speaking, his voice low but charged with an intensity that surprised Diego. “Have you noticed anything funny in the way the girls dress?” Diego smirked, playing it cool. “Funny how? Nora’s flamboyant, Lea’s casual—what’s your point?” Mark gave him a flat stare. “That’s all you saw?” Diego felt a flicker of defensiveness. He prided himself on reading people, on being the one who caught subtle cues before anyone else. And now Mark, the quiet one, was talking like he’d missed something obvious. Mark pressed further. “Alright. Then at least tell me you noticed what they did with Alex yesterday evening.” Diego’s first instinct was to brush it off. “They just talked, laughed a bit. He’s got some charm—” He stopped himself. The memory replayed differently now: Alex breaking away, whispering, Nora smirking, Lea unusually engaged. Pieces he hadn’t put together at the time. Mark’s voice cut through his hesitation, sharp and certain. “They wear freaking diapers, Diego. Both of them. And now they’re pulling Alex in.” Diego blinked. His gut reaction was disbelief—that’s absurd. He opened his mouth to say it, but the look on Mark’s face stopped him cold. Not mocking. Not teasing. Dead serious. And suddenly it clicked. The smirks. The excuses to slip away. Alex’s awkward glow afterward. His stomach turned. “Shit… you’re right.” The words came out more quietly than he expected. For once, Diego felt out of depth—he, the one who usually rode the current of any room, had missed all of it until Mark spelled it out. Mark leaned closer, his eyes narrowing. “I hope you’re at least as disgusted as me. Because if not…” He let the unfinished threat hang in the air, heavy with implication. Mark stopped walking and squared his shoulders toward Diego, his voice tight with controlled anger. “Diego, don’t play dumb with me. They’re wearing freaking diapers. Both of them. And now they’re dragging Alex into it.” Diego blinked, the words still sounding absurd in his ears even as the puzzle pieces slotted into place. The smirks. The private whispers. Alex’s restless, almost guilty expression afterward. He had to admit it all lined up. For a second, Diego’s instinct was to shrug it off. So what if they do? Everyone’s got their quirks. He wasn’t sure what his own limits were yet, but he knew better than to throw stones. But Mark was staring at him, eyes burning, waiting for an answer. And Diego, ever the social one, knew what was expected of him. “Yeah,” he said finally, nodding with just enough force to sound convincing. “I see it now. Disgusting stuff.” Mark exhaled, satisfied, and turned forward again, his strides sharp with righteous certainty. Diego followed a step behind, his mind not nearly as steady. Disgusting? Maybe. Or maybe just weird. Maybe not even that. To each their own, right? But he didn’t say it out loud. Not yet. The subway clattered along the tracks, fluorescent lights flickering over the two of them. Alex still felt the sting of the scene in his room, the nurse’s look, Nora’s smirk. She leaned closer, voice lowered so only he could hear. “Guess I went a bit overboard back there. Sorry you ended up in the crossfire.” Alex gave a half-sigh, half-laugh. “Yeah, you should be sorry. That was brutal. You at least owe me an ice cream for this.” Nora’s grin flashed instantly. “Ice cream? Wow, aiming high. Most guys would have gone straight for dinner and a movie.” She nudged his shoulder lightly. “You really are a cheap date, Alex.” That caught him off guard, but he found himself smiling despite it. “Fine. Double scoop. And I’m picking the flavors.” “Pick all you want,” she said breezily. “You’ll still end up owing me, not the other way around.” The train slowed as it pulled into the campus station. As people shuffled toward the doors, Nora’s hand brushed his. A test. She didn’t look at him—she just let it linger, waiting. Alex hesitated, then closed his fingers around hers. Nora turned her head the tiniest bit, her grin sharpening. “See? That wasn’t so hard. Stick with me and you’ll get used to it.” The two of them stepped off the subway and into the echoing corridor of the campus station. The tide of students swept around them, but Nora kept hold of Alex’s hand, guiding him along as if she’d been doing it forever. She tilted her head toward him, her eyes flickering with mischief. “So, tell me… how’d you sleep last night? Sweet dreams?” Alex froze mid-step. Only now did it really hit him — the diaper hadn’t been a one-off, a hazing ritual, or some strange joke. That padding, that strange mixture of comfort and confinement, was going to be a permanent part of his life here. His chest tightened. “I… I don’t know,” he admitted finally. “Mixed feelings, I guess. But—” he swallowed, lowering his voice, “I’m scared, Nora.” Her grin softened, the sharp edges easing into something gentler. She gave his hand a squeeze, firm and steady. “Listen. Diapers, the rules, the tests… none of that changes who you really are. You’re still Alex. And you’ll still be Alex when this is over.” He let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. “But,” she added, her tone brightening again as her teasing smile returned, “if you ever want to talk about it—really talk—I’ll be there. Even if it’s just to laugh at your dramatic inner monologues.” He gave her a look, half a glare and half a plea. She winked back. Alex, still processing her words, glanced sideways at her. “You… you’ve been through this already. Last year. What was it like, really? I mean—day to day. Was it as strange for you as it already feels for me?” Nora raised an eyebrow, lips curving into that same knowing smirk. “Strange? That’s one word for it. Though I’d say… intense fits better. The first weeks felt like stepping into a play where the script kept changing.” He frowned. “Any… specific episodes that stood out?” She laughed softly. “You want war stories? Let’s see. I once fell asleep in the lounge after a brutal test day and woke up with three of the guys debating whether I was faking it just to avoid chores. Another time, Claudia had us all do a group exercise at 6 a.m. in full… well, gear. Let’s say jogging wasn’t exactly designed for that, but somehow we survived.” Alex winced. “And you stayed? After all that?” Her expression grew thoughtful, though her tone kept its teasing edge. “Most people tap out after the first month. But me? I found the challenge addictive. You don’t realize how much of yourself you’re willing to put on the line until you’ve crossed a few invisible boundaries. And besides—” she gave his hand another squeeze, eyes sparkling—“the people you meet here can get under your skin in ways the outside world rarely does.” Alex hesitated, chewing on her words. “So… what convinced you to sign on for a second year?” Nora leaned in slightly, her voice lower but playful. “Curiosity. And maybe a little sadism. I wanted to see how the next batch of rookies would squirm. You’d be amazed at how entertaining you all are.” Then, almost as an afterthought, she added with a sly grin: “Oh, and Claudia has a special way of being persuasive.” Alex nodded slowly. “Yeah, I can imagine she’s pretty convincing with anyone.” Nora tilted her head, her smile sharpening just a fraction. “Mm. Something like that.” “Entertaining, huh,” he muttered, trying to ignore the flush rising on his cheeks. “Mm-hm,” she said, her smirk returning full force. “Especially you.” They reached the top of the subway stairs, the hum of the campus spilling into open air. Alex glanced around at the crowds, the open space, the sunlight filtering over brick façades. A very different world from the sealed corridors they had left behind. Nora slowed and tugged gently on his hand before letting go. “This is my stop. I’ll catch you later.” Alex hesitated, then asked, “You want me to text when I’m done?” She gave a small, sly smile. “Yeah. Text me, rookie.” Then she leaned a little closer, her voice dropping so that only he could hear: “Or maybe I should start calling you padded boy when no one else is listening.” Heat shot up his neck. “You wouldn’t.” Her grin widened. “Try me.” With a flick of her hair, she slipped into the current of students, leaving Alex both relieved and unsettled, the echo of her words clinging stubbornly as he turned toward his own errand. Alex found the ice cream parlor without trouble. It sat on a quiet corner of the campus, glass walls opening onto the busy street outside. Inside, the hum of students’ voices mixed with the clink of spoons on glass cups. Nora was already there, leaning against the counter with a cup of pistachio ice cream. She caught sight of him instantly, her smile both warm and sly. “There you are,” she said as he walked in. “For a moment I thought the big campus had swallowed you whole.” He smiled back, more relaxed than he’d expected. The morning had flown by in a blur of clubs, posters, sports facilities, and cafés tucked into side streets. For the first time since the program began, he’d seen something that still felt like his own life. “Not yet,” he said. “Still alive.” He ordered a chocolate cone and followed her to a small table by the window. Outside, students streamed past in laughing groups, their voices muffled by the glass. For a moment, it felt like any ordinary afternoon. Nora leaned her chin on her hand, studying him with that quiet intensity that always made him feel exposed. “All right,” she said after a spoonful of ice cream. “You got your treat. Now it’s your turn. Tell me something real about you. Not the medical forms — the Alex part.” He hesitated, then shrugged. “Not much to tell. I like music… jazz, mostly. I was checking if there’s a club around here. And tennis — I’d really like to find some courts. Playing clears my head.” “Music and tennis,” Nora mused, eyes glinting. “Smooth and competitive. Makes sense.” He laughed, shaking his head. “That’s one way to put it.” The minutes slipped away easily. He told her about concerts, evenings spent improvising with friends, the rhythm of the court. She listened with an attentiveness that felt almost too focused, tilting her head like she was filing his words away. It felt good. Normal. Free. Then, as her ice cream melted, she stirred it idly with her spoon. “It’s good you’re already imagining how to spend your time,” she said softly. “Just remember… Claudia has her own ideas about how we should ‘grow.’ Or should I say… Dr. Weiss?” Her tone was playful, but conspiratorial — as if the two of them shared a secret about the woman who ran the whole show. The tiniest flick of her eyebrow made it clear: this was their joke, not hers alone. And sitting there with her, Alex found himself smiling, even while the folded diaper hidden under his pillow flashed into his mind. When Alex finished the last bite of his cone, Nora pushed her empty cup away and checked the time. “I should get going,” she said, rising from her chair with that casual grace that always seemed half-rehearsed. “Where to?” Alex asked automatically. She gave him a quick smile, one that said nice try, but left the question unanswered. “We’ll see each other later.” And with that she was already slipping out the glass door, merging with the passing stream of students outside. Alex sat for a moment longer, watching her disappear into the crowd. A part of him wondered where she went, what she was really doing when she wasn’t tethering him with her glances and remarks. But he didn’t ask, and now it was too late. With a soft sigh, he gathered himself and left the café. The late afternoon air felt heavy with the promise of classes to come, the buzz of campus life around him reminding him of the reasons he had signed up for all this in the first place. Back at the dormitory, the corridors were quiet. He let himself into his room, kicked off his shoes, and opened his laptop. He spent the rest of the afternoon reading up on course information, leafing through forums, and making mental notes about things he wanted to try once lectures began. The medical trial still weighed on him, but for those hours, he managed to pretend it was only the university ahead that mattered. Finaally, he stretched out on the bed, tugged his earplugs in, and let a mellow jazz playlist carry him away. The music blurred the edges of his thoughts, but one in particular refused to fade: the folded diaper still hidden under his cushion. For a moment, he found himself wondering if he was supposed to wear it anytime he lay down, even if it was just to rest or read. What if he drifted off by accident? What if “the rules” extended further than anyone had bothered to explain? The idea made his stomach clench — the thought of needing permission just to close his eyes. Then he forced a small laugh at himself. You’re being paranoid, he decided. They couldn’t possibly expect that. Night was one thing. Nap-time policing was another. He rolled onto his side, adjusted his earbuds, and let the saxophone push the thought away. His eyelids grew heavy, the notes blurring into dream-like colors. Before he could argue with himself, sleep caught him. The knock on his door jolted him awake. He fumbled out the earplugs, still halfway between dream and waking. “Alex?” Lea’s voice, gentle but practical. “Dinner’s in ten minutes.” He sat up too quickly, rubbed his eyes, and croaked a “Thanks,” toward the door. Her footsteps receded down the hallway. He ran a hand through his hair, realizing with a start that he had actually dozed off. For a second, the earlier paranoia returned in a rush. Then he shook his head — nobody had seen, nobody could know. Still, the thought stayed with him as he stood to wash his face before joining the others. The canteen felt almost too bright when Alex walked in. The others were already gathering their trays from the buffet, and as they sat down it was immediately clear that tonight’s chemistry was different. Mark and Diego positioned themselves a little apart from the three others, their body language tighter, their eyes less open than the night before. Alex felt the weight of it almost physically, as if two invisible lines had been drawn across the table. The conversation stumbled forward at first, mostly about the food — Is this pasta meant to be lukewarm? — then about the schedule for the next day. Short answers, polite nods, and long silences stretched between them. The clatter of cutlery sounded louder than usual. Alex kept his gaze low, stealing quick glances at Nora and Lea, who seemed perfectly at ease despite the chill. He couldn’t help but notice the quiet little smile that kept tugging at Nora’s lips, like she was enjoying a secret joke no one else had caught. And once, when his eyes met hers, she gave him the briefest conspiratorial glance — not a word, just a flicker of connection, as if to say “you and I know what’s really going on here.” Heat rose in his cheeks before he looked away. Finally, Diego cracked. He leaned back, forced a grin, and launched into a story about getting lost on campus earlier that day and accidentally wandering into the engineering building. His animated gestures and tone were impossible to resist; slowly, the frost began to melt. Even Mark, though still stiff, allowed himself a small laugh when Diego mimed being chased out by a security guard who had mistaken him for a confused freshman. The mood lifted in increments. Small talk bloomed: tennis courts, cafeteria coffee, the subway system. But it was a fragile balance, and none of them dared to steer the conversation toward the subject pressing just beneath the surface — the one thing that had already begun to divide them. The elephant remained firmly under the table, unspoken but palpable. After dinner the five drifted almost wordlessly toward the recreational lounge, the familiar neutral ground with its low couches, muted lighting, and a couple of half-occupied ping-pong tables. The tension of the meal hadn’t fully left, but the air was looser now — at least compared to the silence that had sat on their plates earlier. Diego, ever restless, tapped at his phone a few times before slipping it back into his pocket with a grin. “Well,” he said, drawing the group’s attention, “I’ve actually got a plan for tonight. Met some people at campus earlier — they’re heading into the city. Should be fun.” He gave the others a chance to react, his eyes particularly searching Mark’s. “Anyone up for it?” Mark, who had barely spoken all evening, sat up almost immediately. “Yeah. I’ll come.” The words were brisk, his tone clipped, but his decision was instant — as if he’d been waiting for a chance to step away from this circle. Diego seemed pleased, giving a short nod. “Perfect.” Alex hesitated, caught between the pull of Diego’s effortless energy and the quiet gravity that Nora and Lea always carried with them. He let his gaze drift toward the two girls. Nora was curled lazily in an armchair, legs folded beneath her, her expression unreadable but her posture relaxed — as if she had already settled in for the night. Lea, beside her, shook her head with a soft smile. “Not tonight,” she said. “I think I’ll stay here.” “Same,” Nora added smoothly, her tone final in a way that made it clear she wasn’t interested in being persuaded. That decided it for Alex. He forced a little shrug, trying to make it look casual. “I’ll stick around too.” “Suit yourselves,” Diego said, but his tone carried no judgment, only his usual brightness. With Mark already on his feet, the two of them headed out together. Diego’s voice lingered in the hallway a moment longer as he launched into a story about where they might go first, before fading away completely. The door closed, and the lounge felt suddenly quieter, emptier. Three remained. With Diego and Mark gone, the lounge settled into a gentler hum, the television across the room whispering muted highlights of a sports recap. Nora stood, stretching with deliberate laziness, and walked over to the kitchenette corner. She came back carrying three cans of soda balanced in her hands. Without asking, she placed one in front of Alex, slid one across the low table toward Lea, and kept the last for herself. “Hydration, rookies,” she said, the faintest smile flickering across her lips. The three of them cracked their cans almost in unison. Alex felt the fizz against his fingers, Lea raised hers with absent-minded efficiency, and Nora leaned back, sipping as if she’d been waiting all evening for this moment. What followed was curious: each time one of them lifted their can to drink, the others seemed compelled to do the same, as if caught in an invisible rhythm. A sip from Nora, then seconds later Alex tilted his own; Lea, who hadn’t seemed thirsty at all, would follow soon after. Then the cycle would begin again. Nobody remarked on it, but it was there — a pulse in the background of their little circle, binding them wordlessly together. Lea’s laptop was open, her fingers tapping across the keys in an irregular cadence, though her attention seemed divided. She paused often, eyes drifting, then snapped back to the screen to add a line of code or adjust a setting. Alex brought up his own laptop, scrolling through class schedules and student club listings. He was trying to sink back into normality, into something that resembled control. Nora, by contrast, had a thick technical book open across her lap, Diagnostic Criteria for Feline Disorders. She flicked through the pages with her pen in hand, margin notes spilling into the white space, her head tilted in studious calm. Conversation remained sparse, little more than fragments — a comment about the campus café Alex had passed earlier, a distracted hum from Lea, an arch remark from Nora that drew a smirk before the silence settled back in. Yet despite the lack of talk, they sat close. The couch was wide, yet they seemed to gravitate toward the same center of gravity, shoulders brushing faintly when someone leaned forward, knees shifting just enough to touch and retreat. And Alex kept glancing, almost against his will. The bulk beneath Nora’s jeans when she pulled her legs up onto the couch, the faint stiffness in the way Lea shifted her weight — reminders of last night that wouldn’t let him go. Each time he looked, he yanked his eyes back to his laptop, but the unspoken rhythm of sodas, the proximity, the sense of a shared secret, made it impossible to ignore. At some point, Alex’s eyes wandered again, lingering just a second too long on the soft swell beneath Lea’s hoodie. When he dragged them back to his laptop screen, he found Nora watching him instead. Their eyes locked — not long, not enough to call him out, but long enough for Alex’s stomach to tighten. Then Nora, without a word, shifted her gaze sideways to Lea. Lea had noticed too. She gave the tiniest shake of her head, her mouth tightening into what might have been the shadow of a smile, as if to say: don’t push him yet. But Nora’s lips curved, mischievous and unbothered. That glance had given her all the confirmation she needed. Alex was caught in the gravity of their little secret, and the more he pretended to ignore it, the deeper he sank. She leaned back, soda can balanced against her knee, and exhaled as though she’d been waiting for just this opening. Her tone came light, casual — but with that caustic sweetness that Alex was learning to recognize as dangerous. “So, Alex…” she began, stretching his name as if it were a thread she could pull, “how’s our gentleman roommate holding up, after his first official night?” The way she said official made Alex’s cheeks burn before he even answered. Alex’s shoulders stiffened, his fingers frozen above his laptop keyboard as though one wrong tap would give him away. He forced a laugh, light but hollow. “You know exactly what you’re doing,” he said, not quite meeting Nora’s eyes. “And yeah… I feel cornered.” Nora tilted her head, unbothered, her soda can tracing lazy circles against her knee. “Cornered?” she echoed, feigning innocence. “Come on, Alex. I thought you liked a challenge.” His throat tightened. The truth was, a part of him did like it. The same part that had kept him from throwing away the folded diaper that morning, that had made him hold Nora’s hand on the subway instead of pulling back. That part stirred now, even as his face flushed deeper. “I…” he began, but the words faltered. Nora leaned forward, her voice dropping into something softer, more intimate, though her eyes still glimmered with mischief. “Tell me this, then. Are you still curious? Like you were the other night?” Her question hung in the air, heavy but deceptively casual, while Lea’s typing slowed to a near stop. She didn’t look up — not quite — but Alex could tell she was listening. Alex swallowed hard. He knew he was supposed to deny it, to shut the whole thing down. But the heat under his skin betrayed him. Alex’s rational side was slipping like sand through his fingers. On the surface, he tried to hold composure, but inside his instincts were beginning to take the wheel. The thought gnawed at him: both girls, sitting so casually on the couch beside him, were wearing diapers. Not just fresh ones, either. Probably used, warm and heavy under their clothes — and yet they showed no embarrassment. They carried it like it was nothing, as natural as holding a soda can. Something in him wanted to cross that bridge, to stop drowning in shame and finally step into their strange, fearless current. His chest rose and fell faster, and after a long pause, he gave a small, reluctant nod. Nora caught it instantly, her smile sharpening. She shifted just slightly closer, her voice low but cutting straight to the heart. “You remember what you signed, Alex,” she said. “What’s written in your form now.” Alex’s lips parted, but no sound came. Nora leaned in a little more, savoring his tension. “And don’t forget the bin. For used diapers.” She drew the word out, each repeat deliberate. “Used. Used. Used.” His face burned hot, his body rigid, yet the pulse in his throat betrayed the rush beneath the embarrassment. Lea finally lifted her eyes from her laptop. She didn’t say anything, but the way she looked at him — quiet, steady, curious — made the silence feel even heavier. Alex gripped his soda can harder, as though that could ground him. He wanted to say something clever, but all that came out was a shaky exhale. Nora set her soda down on the table and rose just enough to dim the lights, leaving the room in a softer, more intimate glow. She came back to the couch with a playful calmness, her eyes narrowing as she studied Alex’s stiff posture. “Alright,” she said, her voice low and steady, almost like a yoga instructor. “You’re all wound up, Alex. Let’s make it easier for you. Breathe in slowly. Now hold it… and breathe out.” He hesitated, but her presence carried the same gentle gravity it always did, and soon enough he was following her rhythm. “Again. In. Hold. Out.” Lea put her laptop aside and leaned back, watching with growing fascination. Alex could feel her eyes on him, making the exercise twice as intense. Nora smiled faintly when she noticed. “Good. Now, Alex… listen, and repeat after me.” He swallowed, unsure, but nodded. “I am safe here,” Nora began. There was a pause before Alex murmured, “I am safe here.” Lea, grinning at the game, echoed softly too: “I am safe here.” “Drink,” Nora instructed, and the three of them raised their sodas. The hiss of carbonation and the gulps filled the silence for a moment, binding them together in the ritual. Nora’s eyes gleamed as she went on. “I am not alone.” “I am not alone,” Alex repeated, his voice a little rough. “I am not alone,” Lea joined, her tone lighter, almost teasing. Another gulp of soda. Alex’s stomach was already starting to feel it, but the rhythm — the words, the repetition, the drinks — was hypnotic. Nora’s voice dipped lower. “I can let go.” Alex’s throat tightened. He hesitated, then pushed the words out: “I can let go.” Lea chimed in right away, clearly enjoying herself: “I can let go.” The three cans tipped again in unison. It was absurd, Alex knew it was absurd, and yet the ritualistic cadence made his skin tingle. Each line, each swallow blurred the boundary between playful teasing and something deeper. Nora leaned closer, her tone sharper now: “And I will follow through.” Alex froze, caught in her eyes. His rational side screamed for caution, but with Lea eagerly repeating and Nora waiting, the pressure was unbearable. “I will follow through,” he whispered, his cheeks burning. “I will follow through,” Lea said, almost laughing, but her eyes shone with the same spark Nora’s carried. They all drank again. The soda was turning heavy in his stomach, but so was the atmosphere — thick, charged, ritualistic. Nora tilted her head, pleased with the way Alex had finally repeated her last line. Her voice dropped to a silky murmur. “Good boy.” Alex felt the words land heavy, half praise, half claim. “Now,” she went on, brushing imaginary lint from her sleeve, “go brush your teeth. But don’t you dare touch the toilet. We do this thing together.” Her eyes held his for a moment longer than necessary, then she stood, stretching as if the conversation had been nothing more than casual. “I’ll get us something warm. Green tea works, right?” Without waiting for an answer, she headed off toward the kitchenette, humming lightly to herself. Lea stayed behind for just a beat, watching Alex’s conflicted expression. Then, without a word, she slipped away to her room. Alex lingered a moment, caught in the odd blend of command and ritual that Nora had spun around him, before shuffling off to the bathroom. He brushed his teeth mechanically, trying to focus on the minty foam instead of the knot in his stomach, and returned just in time to see Nora carrying a tray with three steaming cups. “Perfect timing,” she said breezily, setting the tray down on the low table. The scent of green tea began to fill the dimmed room. Then Lea reappeared. She was barefoot, hair slightly tousled, and now dressed in her pajamas — soft cotton, a little wrinkled from the drawer. But what caught Alex’s attention, what froze him mid-step, was what she carried openly in both hands: a fresh, unfolded diaper, white and rustling faintly in the quiet. Lea didn’t try to hide it. She just smiled faintly, almost innocently, and walked toward the couch. Nora, without missing a beat, handed Alex his cup of tea as though nothing unusual were happening. “Careful, it’s hot,” she said, her eyes flicking to him knowingly over the rim of her own cup. Alex sat down slowly, the heat of the tea seeping into his palms, while the air between the three of them thickened, charged with a new kind of anticipation. Lea, with the fresh diaper in her hands, moved back to the couch and sat cross-legged, smoothing the folds over her lap as though it were the most natural thing in the world. She glanced at Alex once, a small flicker of amusement crossing her face. Nora set her cup of tea down and leaned back, stretching lazily. Then she snapped her fingers lightly. “Now you copycat, Alex,” she said, her tone mock-commanding, playful on the surface but sharp underneath. Alex froze. “What…?” Nora tilted her head toward Lea, who held her diaper in full view, casual and unashamed. “See? Lea’s got it right. Nightwear, fresh diaper in hand. That’s how we do it. Safety first.” She gave a grin — light, but with an edge of challenge. “Think of me as your flight attendant,” Nora went on, sliding off the couch and striking a half-serious pose, as if she were about to mime a safety demonstration. “You know, pointing out the exits, demonstrating the oxygen masks… and of course,” she tapped the diaper in Lea’s hands, “the proper use of emergency equipment.” Lea giggled softly, but said nothing, hugging the folded padding against her pajama top like a pillow. Alex shifted uncomfortably, the tea forgotten on the table. “Come on,” Nora pressed, lowering her voice, that conspiratorial lilt returning. “Nightwear. Fresh diaper. Safety device. No one wants to wake up unprepared, right?” She winked at him as if it were all just a joke, but her eyes stayed locked on his, leaving him no space to retreat. Alex swallowed hard, glancing from Nora to Lea. The weight of their stares made his skin prickle. His mouth went dry, but he still managed to force out, almost in a whisper: “Could I at least… have some privacy?” For a moment there was silence, the words hanging in the air like a small rebellion. Then Nora’s eyes narrowed, her playful smile hardening. She shook her head slowly, almost theatrically, as though he had just spoiled the punchline of a joke. “Alex,” she said, her voice firm but not raised, “don’t ruin the mood. We do this thing together.” Lea hugged the folded diaper to her chest, eyes wide with anticipation. She didn’t say anything, but her grin betrayed how much she enjoyed watching the scene unfold. Nora stepped closer, lowering her tone until it was a soft, coaxing murmur. “You’re not on your own here. That’s the whole point. Together means no hiding, no sneaking off, no pretending. Together means safe.” She tilted her head, mock-scolding, her finger wagging just slightly. “Privacy is for people who aren’t part of the group. And you’re part of the group now, aren’t you?” Alex’s shoulders tensed, his logical side screaming for a way out — but with both Nora and Lea watching, expectant and calm, his resistance felt fragile, almost childish. Alex’s cheeks burned. He kept his gaze low, clutching the waistband of his pajama bottoms as if it could shield him from the situation. But even as he tried to resist, something traitorous stirred in him — a warmth he couldn’t push away. The realization hit him like a slap: he was reacting to this. To the teasing, to the pressure, to the corner they’d boxed him into. His stomach twisted with shame. Nora tilted her head, watching him with sharp eyes. She didn’t need words to see it. The faintest smirk curled her lips, slow and knowing. “Well, well…” she murmured, just loud enough for Lea to hear. “So that’s what’s going on.” Alex froze, mortified. Nora leaned closer, her voice velvet and cruel at once. “You really can’t help yourself, can you?” She tapped a finger against his chest, light but precise, as if marking him. “I told you — no hiding.” Lea shifted on her feet, biting back a giggle, the folded diaper still cradled in her arms like a prop in a play. The room felt smaller now, charged. Alex wanted the floor to swallow him. And yet, despite the humiliation, the heat inside him only grew stronger. Alex clenched his jaw, trying to will his body into silence. He straightened his shoulders, eyes fixed on some invisible point above Nora’s head, as if sheer discipline could erase the traitorous warmth running through him. “Let’s move on then, flight assistant,” he muttered, forcing a brittle steadiness into his tone. Nora’s smirk widened. “That’s the spirit.” She turned with exaggerated grace, as if about to deliver a safety demonstration mid-flight. One arm swept toward Lea, who obediently stepped onto the yoga mat. “First example,” Nora intoned, half-serious, half-mocking. Lea lay down easily, the shadows softening her outline, her movements unhurried and almost serene. “Now, the trainee,” Nora said, her eyes snapping back to Alex. She patted the middle cushion of the couch. “Here. In the open. Spotlight’s yours.” Alex hesitated. The couch sat under the glare of the overhead light, every crease of fabric visible, every twitch of his expression impossible to hide. He swallowed and lowered himself anyway, limbs stiff, the humiliation prickling hotter with every second. Nora leaned down, close enough that he felt her breath. “Good boy,” she whispered, just for him. Then, louder: “We do it together. Eyes on me.” Lea mimicked Nora’s gestures with exaggerated precision, like a student determined to impress. But all Alex could feel was Nora’s gaze pinning him, stripping him of any illusion of control. He was the one in full light. The one on display. The one learning how to surrender, piece by piece. Nora tapped her empty can with a fingernail. The sharp tink broke the silence. “Ritual fuel’s gone,” she said. “Time for the upgrade.” She disappeared into the kitchenette and came back with three steaming mugs on a tray. The smell of green tea filled the room, herbal and faintly sweet. She handed one to Alex, one to Lea, and kept one for herself. “Tea means focus,” Nora explained as she settled back down, her tone drifting between nurse and conspirator. “Slower than soda, steadier. Every step, every breath—measured. We’re not rushing tonight.” Alex cradled the mug, trying to let the warmth ground him. Nora clapped once, softly. “Checklist time. We do this properly.” Lea, already on the yoga mat, unfolded her diaper with practiced ease. Alex mirrored her clumsily on the couch, his hands betraying his nerves. “Step one?” Nora asked. “Skin clean and dry,” Alex said, voice low. “Correct. Sip.” They all drank. The tea went down hot, almost sharp compared to the fizzy sweetness before. “Step two: orientation. Wetness strip dead center.” Lea adjusted hers in one smooth motion; Alex fumbled, then corrected. “Good. Sip.” The ritual built, steadier than with soda. The warmth in their hands matched the steady rhythm of her commands. “Step three: back panel high, waistband level with hips. Breathe in, hold, breathe out. Now slide it under.” They obeyed, mugs resting briefly on the floor. Alex felt the heat lingering in his chest. “Step four: leak guards. Say it.” “Leak guards flared, not tucked.” “Good boy. Sip.” The tea cooled as they moved forward. Each line, each correction, was punctuated with the ritual swallow. By the time Nora reached “Step seven: top tabs angled down,” the mugs were nearly half gone. Alex tightened his last tape, then reached for his tea. The taste lingered on his tongue like something medicinal—ritualistic. “Step eight: compression. Pajamas on. Demonstrate, Lea.” Lea tugged her pajama shorts into place. Alex followed, slower, his movements stiffer under Nora’s gaze. Then came the final part. Nora raised her mug in mock toast. “Safety brief. Repeat after me.” “I wear for sleep.” They repeated. Sip. “I wear for naps if I might drift.” They repeated. Sip. “I log and bin when done.” They repeated. Sip. Her eyes pinned Alex. “Used ones go where?” “In the bin,” he said, throat dry. “Even if they’re… still clean.” “Correct.” She sipped long and slow. The mugs were nearly empty now, the air carrying the faint bitterness of the tea. The room felt hushed, almost reverent. Nora leaned back, satisfied. “Congratulations. Safety demonstration complete. You’re both cleared for takeoff.” Her smirk softened into something more conspiratorial as she lowered her mug. “Exits are still nowhere. You’re here, together.” Lea giggled under her breath and tucked her knees up, pajama-clad and smug. Alex held his cooling mug with both hands, trying not to notice how secure—how final—everything felt. Nora swirled the last sip of tea in her mug, then turned lazily toward Lea. “So, Lea,” she asked, voice casual as though they were talking about weekend plans, “what happens if you wake up at three in the morning with your bladder screaming at you?” Lea gave a little shrug, lips curling into a smile. “Easy. That’s what this is for.” She patted her pajama waistband with mock pride. “Diapers are perfect for lazy girls like me. No need to leave the bed, no cold tiles on my feet.” Nora chuckled, clearly enjoying the ease with which Lea owned it. Her eyes shifted immediately to Alex. “And you? Same question.” The warmth in Alex’s face had nothing to do with the tea anymore. He hesitated, his fingers tightening around his mug as he searched for an answer that wouldn’t humiliate him further. “I… I guess I’d…” His voice trailed. Nora rolled her eyes with exaggerated drama. “Honestly, rookie. Still stuck at the basics.” She set her mug down and leaned forward, tone sharpening into that mantra cadence he was already learning to dread. “Repeat after me.” Alex swallowed hard. “If I wake up in the night—” He echoed her, barely above a whisper. “—I trust what I’m wearing.” He repeated, cheeks burning. “I do not sneak to the toilet.” He repeated again, the words heavier this time. “I roll over, relax, and sleep.” He stumbled on the last word, then forced it out. Lea, grinning like she was in on the joke, chimed in softly on the final line, turning it into a duet. Nora sat back, satisfied. “Better. Now finish your tea, both of you. Hydration’s part of the training.” Alex raised his mug with trembling fingers, wishing he could disappear into the steam. Once the mugs were empty and the ritual complete, Nora clapped her hands softly, as though dismissing a class. “Alright, cadet. Time to put theory into practice. Bed.” Alex wanted to argue, but he found himself standing anyway, guided by the twin presences on either side of him. The girls flanked him like attendants escorting someone much more important—or much more helpless—than he felt. In his room, the lamp light was dim and warm. Nora pulled back the covers with a little flourish, gesturing like a hostess presenting a suite. Lea simply pointed at the bed with mock severity. “Go on.” Alex slid under the blanket, every movement deliberate, hoping that the slowness might mask his embarrassment. The mattress felt colder than usual. Then came the final indignity: Nora leaned down, brushed his hair back with a palm, and kissed him lightly on the forehead. “Sleep well, rookie.” Lea followed, suppressing a grin that twitched at her lips as she placed her own quick kiss on the same spot. “Sweet dreams,” she whispered, though her voice trembled as if holding back laughter. They turned to leave, whispering something between themselves, when Lea suddenly stopped at the door. For a moment, her expression softened. She padded back to Alex’s bedside, bent down, and wrapped him in a brief but firm hug. “Welcome home, little brother,” she murmured. Alex froze, unsure whether to feel comforted, diminished, or both. By the time he thought of a reply, the door had already closed, leaving him alone with the weight of their words—and the crinkle of his nightwear.

You know what you've done It’s the twelfth day and twelve-year-old Robbie still hadn’t acknowledged why he was back in nappies. ~~~~ He’d woken up on that first day of Summer Break hoping for an exciting time with all his mates only to be greeted by his father looking grim and holding a bundle of stuff in his hand. “Okay Robert,” his dad was not angry but never one to brook too much nonsense. Standing at six feet tall and having a fairly muscular physique from his job as a builder he looked most imposing. “School may be over but you’ve got a lot to learn so... it’s back into nappies for you. Go and get a shower and come straight back and I’ll see to you.” Robbie bristled at the idea, as if he’d let that happen. Besides, what could he have possibly done to be returned to wearing a nappy? It had to be a joke, right? Perhaps he was dreaming and had yet to wake up properly because this was just silly. However, why would he be dreaming of such a thing it...? He found his voice when he realised this wasn’t a dream at all. “But dad... WHY... I haven’t wet the bed or anything?” Robbie grinned but looked suspiciously at what was in his father’s hands. “Why don’t you think about the ‘why’ whilst having a shower, but don’t take too long.” Dad indicated for him to get up and get moving. “Dad this isn’t going to happen, I’m not a kid and you can’t make me... I’m not a bloody baby,” he added insolently. “Strike one, our little boy thinks he can swear with impunity...” Robbie had no idea what that word meant, “but he’s going to find that there are loads of things he thought... but thought wrong. Now, do as you’re told because this is going to be your underwear until we decide otherwise.” “I don’t think so...” The cocksure defiance was there but he was wondering... “There you go again, thinking and has been recently discovered... not your best feature Robbie. Because of all the things you’ve been up to over the past few months, thinking no one would get to know about, have come home to roost. Don’t think for a second you’re getting out of this because sonny, you aren’t.” The seriousness and directness of his dad’s words made him uncertain. Unsure of what a twelve-year-old could do but, and this is what mattered, he was twelve years old and therefore had... oh... but... There was also that guilt... what exactly was it they knew about that would bring about such a weird punishment? “Shower... now.” Dad pointed towards the bathroom. “But dad...” Robbie reluctantly did as he was told, easing his four feet six inch body from under the warm covers and then padding hesitantly to the bathroom in his creased t-shirt and boxers’ sensing it wasn’t the time to argue. Although slightly smaller than the others he was confident - he was after all in the school’s first eleven football team, and more recently mixing with his new tough friends, thought himself a toughie. However, when called out like this his swagger and self-confidence dropped. He needed more information and time to corral his excuses and arguments. ~ All through showering he wondered what dad knew he’d done. His grades weren’t too bad, granted there was always room for improvement. Although the Headmaster’s final comments on his end of term report card said that he ‘...didn’t try and easily distracted. A noticeable decline in ability and respect’ also didn’t help. He couldn’t remember being rude or cheeky to his parents but of course such occasions are done without much thought. He and his mates hadn’t been caught doing anything that might be regarded as foolish or criminal (although that hadn’t stopped them from doing such stuff). Mind you, he didn’t want a complete investigation into what he and those mates had been up to, that would open a huge can of worms. Then there was one ‘biggie’ which he knew they better not know about otherwise his life would be ruined - and he wasn’t sure if that was an over or understatement. Was there a difference between being cheeky and downright disrespectful? To a lad his age it was all part of growing up and having opinions, attitude and actions that might not correspond to what others might agree as normal. He wasn’t that bothered what anyone else thought... only himself... and his mate’s. The ‘biggie’ was BIG and it weighed heavily now his parent’s said they knew what he’d been up to. His mates had said that no one would ever know so it was just between them but still, as he showered, the guilt cut through his body like a cold, cold knife. ~ Recently at school he’d been hanging around with a little gang who were dangerously close to being young hoodlums and whom he was desperate to impress. He’d somehow found himself in with this particular ‘in’ crowd with ‘attitude’ and liked the infamy by association that went with it. He adopted quite a bit of their style – the way they dressed, the way they spoke, the off-handedness in any conversation. They were lippy, disrespectful, rebellious and took anything not nailed down (and a few things that were). He didn’t come from their rough, tough background so had a lot to prove to fit in. So far, he thought he had but now his parents had pulled him up, he wasn’t so certain it had been that good a move. Although in their company Robbie saw himself as a rebel, and someone who thought for himself, the hardened, uncaring streak that his new mates possessed really wasn’t part of his character. In fact, despite his attempts at ‘fitting in’ with his new ‘friends’, it was safe to say that none of what they’d done sat easily on his conscience so more or less knew that eventually he’d be brought to book. But what specifically was it his dad knew and what was it that made him think in terms of ‘nappies’ as a penalty? Under the warm plumes of water, he chuntered to himself on how he would never wear a nappy, nor would he let his father fulfil his threat. Despite his absolute intention of not giving in he felt an unease creep into his head -something he’d never felt before. Well, it had but his mates told him to “...forget it ever happened” but it was a hard secret to keep. That secret, that thing, only he and ‘the gang’ knew about and which they’d laughed off as “...a great stunt” was hanging heavily but he dare not confess to it... ever. He was at a loss to know why his father would want to impose such a juvenile punishment – one that had been threatened but never pursued before. Well, not exactly being put back into nappies but not able to go anywhere, have an early curfew or allowance stopped. All these penalties had been threatened in the past but never applied. So why now AND what had caused this dramatic shift that his dad intended to carry it out? What the HELL did dad know? Well, he decided, whatever he knew, or thought he knew, he wasn’t going to wear a nappy and there was nothing dad could do to make him. Of that he was certain. ~ Returning from the bathroom drying himself but confused as to why there was so much stuff spread out on his bed and why had his t-shirt and shorts he’d just slept in disappeared whilst he took the shower? Not only that but the very serious look on his father’s face indicated that any further argument could well be a huge mistake. Still, he’d decided, he certainly wasn’t going to wear a nappy and that was final. After all he was twelve, and twelve year-olds don’t wear nappies. He may be a little smaller than some his age but on the football pitch he was a little terrier and one of the best players. He was fairly good-looking (or so his mum thought) with longish brown hair and brown eyes. Despite his veneer of confidence he approached his father with more than a little trepidation. He noticed the thick fabric squares (more than one) which was a bit scary, the clear plastic pants like those he remembered his toddler cousin used to wear when visiting (he didn’t remember the days as a child he also used to wear them). Additionally, arranged on his dresser were a large canister of baby powder and several tubs of ointment. This was not looking like a simple threat, but he was adamant - no nappies. “Dad, what is it I’m supposed to have done?” He implored as innocently as possible, though dreading his father knowing some of the things he (and his mates) had been up to. “‘Supposed to have done’ ah! Acting innocent, eh? Well, that won’t work.” His dad fluffed out one of the large squares of white fabric and began to fold it. “Dad this isn’t fair, if I don’t know what I’ve done I can’t...” “Oh Robbie, Robbie, Robbie... I think you know only too well why this is happening and you’ve no one but yourself to blame.” Robbie mentally tallied some of those things and then physically shivered at the more ‘suspect’ offences, wondering if those were also what his father now knew about. However, he figured, if he knew about all of them, and the big one, he doubted if having to wear a nappy for a couple of days would be his punishment it would be much worse. Not knowing was making him less sure and put him at a huge disadvantage. He began to feel vulnerable, especially as his dad was looking more and more determined. “Dad this isn’t fair,” he was being as firm as he could, “I’m too old to wear a nappy and I’m not going to.” At least he was confident about that. “Really,” his dad looked a bit more than pissed off at his son’s denial, “well we can visit other, more embarrassing, public punishments if you wish. I don’t think you’ll like them, and, in the end, you’d still end up wearing a nappy... but if you insist.” The nappy was now folded, and his father indicated for him to lie out. “It’s up to you Robert, last chance, this now or something less easy, well for you anyway...” He’d never felt intimidated by his father before but there was something in his attitude that implied ‘mess with me at your peril’. He tried to ignore it but the thing was... a guilty conscience (in fact a very guilty conscience) was getting the better of Robbie - he was uncertain. He knew he should be making a huge scene and storming off or swearing like his mates and demanding the independence any twelve-year-old deserved and to stop being treated as a child. But he was caught off-guard - what might be ‘less easy?’ but when he thought about it, he and the gang had done some terrible stuff. The threat got the boy’s attention. His mind was full of appalling possibilities. He’d heard that some of his new friend’s parents weren’t afraid to take a belt to their wayward offspring and the idea of having a fiercely whipped arse had no appeal whatsoever. He dreaded pain, the few times growing up he’d been physically hurt made sure he stayed away from any confrontation where violence might happen. Even being in the gang he always maintained a distance between them and him... just in case. However, his mind conjured up a terrible situation. THWACK! (it was as if he could feel it) on his vulnerable bottom scared the hell out of him, not that his parents had ever said they’d do such a thing BUT, as his father was hinting, there’d be worse – public punishments - so that possibility flitted into his head and fuelled his worst case scenario. Some of the gang had intimated that physical punishment was almost a daily occurrence in their household and no amount of anti-smacking laws would change their parent’s attitude to discipline, even if it didn’t work. One lad had told him quite openly that his father had taken the belt to him after a visit from the police and he had to sit painfully at the dinner table on a hard chair as the family ate their meal. He’d shrugged when his mates told him what his dad had done was illegal, his reply, so was what he’d done so...? ~ Thoughts of rebellion, of simply refusing, of acting out and not giving a damn rippled through his mind. He was twelve and, as he kept saying to himself, twelve-year-old's do NOT wear nappies or get put in them either. This hadn’t happened to any of his friends, so he was certain it wasn’t going to happen to him. But a chilling other thought entered his head – what if it happened to his mates all the time, except, he didn’t know about it? ‘THWACK’ that thought triggered a fear he didn’t know he had. A catalogue of harsh and terrible punishments filled his brain and made him shudder in indecision. How could he rebel or even argue if that kind of violence was delivered to his bare bottom. What if, once delivered it became a regular event? What if...? However, he was sure if any of his mates had suffered from any embarrassing punishments he’d know about it. BUT, what if, they were so ashamed it was something no one ever talked about? Being strapped was something you could talk about but being forced to wear a nappy, well, that was just too weird and embarrassing. What if there were loads of kids, teenage kids, being made to wear some form of padding as an alternative to receiving a beating and it was simply something that no one ever spoke about? It was as if some strange influence had got into his head and all he could mentally experience was the pain that people were inflicting on him. In his imagination it wasn’t just his parents, in fact they were not to be seen, but stranger after stranger piling in and walloping him for having done what he’d done. Aarrggg, it was all too much. Robbie needed to get rid of these scary thoughts, but how? ~ His recent truculent nature was suddenly suffering from uncertainty and for the first time in quite some time Robbie was at a loss of what to do. He knew he should be making a scene, denying everything, call his parent’s names and swear the house down, except he didn’t, he was conflicted. The part that knew he’d done wrong, even if he wasn’t sure which ‘wrong’ they knew about - was edging over the part demanding he fight back. Basically, he was a good boy gone rogue, but now he was held to account, the roguish element was undeniably slipping away. What if... yes, again, what if...? The idea that there was a secret world of punishment going on where everyone involved was so ashamed of mentioning it - it had become THE way of dealing with disrespectful, out-of-control and threatening youths. Although this thought didn’t make much sense it was now imbedded in his brain and had somehow settled as an actual punishment that happened, and worse still, happen to him. Psychologically he could see the swish of the belt through the air and the sickening ‘THWACK’ as it met its target. He could hear his screams; he could feel his pain - he definitely didn’t want that to happen to him. But would a nappy be better than the strap? Would it be more effective than actual physical punishment? He was sure no kid his age would admit to such a thing... thus ensuring the secret would remain just that... a secret. He trembled at the thought, the revolt, was this something he’d be able to rebel against? His parents were ‘nice’ people, surely, they wouldn’t want to embarrass him but still, if they not only insisted but the penalties for not doing so were worse, would it then be the secret all threatened teens kept... including him? SWISH, THWACK - “Ooooowwwww” His desperate cry of sudden and direct pain may have been bouncing about in his head, but the reality now seemed an option. He was nervously sweating - not just at this possibility but the ensuing probability. ~ Robert stood there thinking just what he had done and dad knew about that he could apologise for and escape this ridiculous childish sentence. For the first time ever he felt intimidated by his father. He was in comparison quite small for his age but until that moment had never thought about it. However, at that moment, he felt tiny and timid. He tried to continue to dry himself to delay whatever was about to happen. Try as he might he couldn’t think of anything, well anything he would openly confess to. There was ‘cheeking’ Mrs Oldershaw. There was a chance he knew about bunking off the last couple of periods at school but thought that wasn’t much of a crime. His part in a bit of schoolboy bullying, which didn’t sit well with him but nonetheless he’d been there. Then of course it was possible that the incident in the shop in town might have reached dad’s ears. That was where he and his mates wandered in and whilst the cashier was kept busy, he and a chum helped themselves to various snacks and booze (and this hadn’t been the first time or the first shop to receive the gang’s attention). However, he’d never admit to that, unless they had CCTV and could prove it. When he thought about it there were quite a number of ‘little’ things that his father could be angry about but until he had a better idea perhaps wearing a nappy for a day or two might be the easiest way out of whatever trouble he was in. The main thing was, as long as they didn’t know about his serious ‘crime’, which he hoped to take to the grave, then all might just be forgotten. He suddenly decided it was a no-brainer, if he was going to be punished harshly AND still end up wearing a nappy, then he might as well jump straight to that and avoid any painful attention. “Okay,” seeing this as a possible way out he reluctantly agreed. “Very sensible, now, let’s get these on you,” he held up the white fabric triangle, “and then the... hmmmm... on second thoughts... Claire... can you come in here please?” “Yes dear,” his wife appeared at the bedroom door carrying what looked like a supply of new towels. Robbie was confused as to why mum would be just hanging around his bedroom like that. “Do I need to put extra padding in?” Dad looked a little confused at the extra items that were next to the fabric squares on the bed. “Of course love, but don’t forget the barrier cream first, make it thick and sure it’s spread everywhere, we don’t want our Robbie to get a rash now do we?” She smiled benevolently at her son. “Yes, well I had that covered...” her hubby said a bit annoyed because he hadn’t asked for that instruction. Robbie lay there, towel in hand and all but naked wondering why they were arguing over this but of course they weren’t. This was more ‘theatre’ for his benefit. They were making sure he knew this was a huge deal that they were taking seriously. So, although he was being punished for his misdemeanours, they were still going to take good care of him. Mum busied herself clearing out his underwear drawer, bagging up underpants, boxers and trunks and replacing those items with this fresh ‘laundry’. She then dug deep into another bag and pushed unopened packs of plastic pants in beside the pile of new fleecy terry nappies. Finally, she pulled nappy pins from her pocket and left them in a little dish next to the baby powder. Her boy was going to be well-cared for, the pins had white plastic ducky safety covers. She then looked on in a supervisory capacity as hubby started the nappying process. Meanwhile, a nervous and confused Robbie turned beet red under scrutiny from both parents. It was scary that they seemed to think this was perfectly acceptable behaviour. “You’ll need to use a booster pad and nappy liner before you pin it all together, it will make cleaning him up after any little accidents that much easier.” Claire added as she passed her hubby the items and a couple of safety pins. “WHAT?” Robbie all but screamed and clamping a hand over his naked genitals. “What, what?” his dad replied as he smacked his hand away, whilst inserting the things his wife had just suggested and pulling the multi-layered fabric up between the boy’s legs. “I’m not going to shit in a nappy... I... errrrr....” His dad gave him a second quick slap to his naked thigh “Language Robert, I’ll not tell you again.” Although the slaps didn’t hurt there seemed to be a warning that had to be taken seriously. Was this just the start of a much more violent regime? It scared him to think that might be the case. However, the material felt really thick as it was pulled up and left him unsure if he’d be able to cope with such an item wrapped around his genitals. Despite a half-hearted struggle dad pinned the thick, soft fabric tightly around his son’s wriggling waist. “Dad please,” he begged, “I can’t be seen wearing a nappy I’m a grown...” “Of course, you can sweetheart” Mum intervened as she saw the first tears begin to form in the corner of his eyes. “You’ll be wearing one from now on or until we see a huge improvement in your behaviour and an actual understanding of what you’ve been up to... and more especially... why we think this is necessary.” Her smile was benign but firm as she admired her hubby’s work. Her voice was soothing even if the message was chilling. Meanwhile, she flapped out a pair of smooth, clear plastic pants. ~ Mr and Mrs Davison had decided that their only son Robert (Robbie) was at an age where hormones and attitude kick in. They knew he was becoming, well, a teenager, but there’d been a very noticeable deterioration in his behaviour both at home and in school for almost a year. They knew he was part of a group that had been ‘disruptive’ in class and no doubt had been equally annoying at all other times. They suspected he’d been up to all manner of stupid, possibly illicit and undoubtedly antisocial activities... even if they didn’t know exactly what all of them were. Twelve years old and at that age, when a firm hand can be easily swatted away, where a parent’s authority has begun to diminish greatly and a time where his friends and what they say (and incite) matter more than anything else, meant something needed to be done. It is most parents worry that their offspring might go down a road of wrong choices: criminal, anti-social or any manner of other unacceptable activities. Thomas and Claire Davison were determined that if they got in first, made him guilty about what he thought they might know, then they stood a chance of keeping their son as they wanted him. “Keep him guessing,” that had been the idea, to not agree or disclose exactly what it was they knew. That way, and hoping they knew their son, he’d be on the defensive, anxious and, they hoped, so unsettled that he would comply, albeit reluctantly, to their decisions. Up until relatively recently Robert had always been a good boy, not perfect, but good. However, reports from school, neighbours and homelife (attitude) had seen a complete turnabout that had made him become – unpleasant. This was a side that Claire in particular didn’t want to see develop, so, with the agreement of hubby, set about coming up with something that would change him back to the likeable little scamp he used to be. Of course, they ran the risk that whatever they said or did might rebound but thought, for the sake of their only son, they had to try. Although they’d planned their action, it was still an ad hoc situation as they didn’t know what reaction they’d get. They had no idea that the spontaneous threat of ‘something worse’ had already had such an effect so he was at present cowed and scared of speaking up too much. As their action continued Robert’s worry about this warning and what he had done became a bonus (although they were unaware of it), to keep him where they wanted him - nervous of terrible (but undisclosed) retribution. Once the course of action was decided, they hoped that guilt, terror of discovery and an agenda where all choices were made for him (but in a caring, loving way) made his involvement unequivocal. Any time he questioned them about why they were doing this they simply put it back to him that he knew why and until he recognised and admitted his own complicity in this punishment then the penalty would continue. This was infuriating for him because he had no idea exactly what it all meant apart from the fact, he would be wearing a nappy for a while. How or why taking him back to wearing a nappy had come up in discussions neither was sure. Maybe Claire had read an article about kids not acting their age and this had been deemed a suitable punishment. However, even if she hadn’t read about such a reaction, she fondly remembered those happy nappy times when he was a toddler, that idea stuck so thought it worth a try. They also believed that by being supportive of his nappy wearing, just as they were when a child, and praising him each time he used it, they could convince him it was less of a punishment and simply a reminder. ~ Mastigophobia: irrational fear of punishment. No one knew the word, no one knew where this sensible phobia had come from, but it had taken up residency in Robbie’s subconscious. The nappy, though appalling for a lad his age, was at least bearable... well maybe. ~ tbc ~

Author's Note Hi! I'm Nicky, and I'm thrilled to join the Daily Diapers Community. Writing has been a passion of mine for many years, and over time, I've created numerous drafts and story ideas on ABDL that I've kept to myself—until now. I finally gathered the courage to share something, and I truly hope you enjoy it. I'm looking forward to connecting with fellow ABDL here. 😊 ____________________________________________________________________________ The Web of Lies is a psychological thriller about trust, manipulation, and the slow unraveling of a seemingly perfect life. Alan, a confident and successful man in his 40s, begins to notice strange things happening—small accidents, unexpected loss of control, and concerns raised by his wife, Lisa, about his health. At first, they seem like minor worries, but they slowly grow into a pattern that makes Alan question himself and his ability to stay dry. The story explores how care can become control and how easy it is to doubt your own reality when someone you love plants those doubts. This is a story about the power of suggestion and how even the strongest minds can be tested when trust is twisted. It’s a gripping tale that will keep readers guessing at every turn. Enjoy! 🙃 P.S Comments are much appreciated! ____________________________________________________________________________ Chapter 1: The Waiting Room Alan sat on a stiff leather chair in the pristine waiting room of Dr. Hargrove’s office. The walls were painted a muted, calming gray, adorned with abstract art that didn’t quite command attention. The faint hum of the air conditioning filled the silence, occasionally interrupted by the muted voices of the receptionist on the phone or the shuffle of a patient’s feet down the hallway. Across the room, a small fountain gurgled softly, its soothing sound doing little to ease Alan’s tension. The clock on the wall ticked steadily, each second dragging on longer than the last. Alan glanced at his watch, its familiar face offering no comfort, and then at the closed door leading to the doctor’s office. His knee bounced anxiously, a nervous rhythm that betrayed the calm façade he tried to maintain. He wasn’t supposed to be here, he thought. This wasn’t his life. His world revolved around work deadlines, weekend barbecues, and the occasional round of golf. He was the guy everyone called when they needed a laugh or a drinking buddy, not the one sitting outside a doctor’s office, waiting to hear about someone else’s medical troubles. Yet here he was, summoned by Lisa’s concerned tone and Alan’s unspoken distress. Alan leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest as his gaze wandered over the room. He noticed the small details now, the way his mind always did when he was trying to distract himself: the slight scuff on the baseboard near the door, the stack of outdated magazines on the low glass coffee table, the faint smell of antiseptic that lingered beneath the air conditioning. He let his eyes close for a moment, trying to make sense of it all. How did it come to this? Alan, his best friend, had always been the confident one—the guy who seemed to have everything together. Yet over the past two months, something had shifted. Alan couldn’t pinpoint when it started, but looking back, the signs were there. One memory led to another, each connected like a breadcrumb trail. And it all started two months ago, on that seemingly perfect morning. *Flashback* The day had started peacefully. Sunlight filtered through the tall windows of their modern kitchen, illuminating the marble countertops and the gleaming stainless-steel appliances. Alan sat at the breakfast table, his coffee steaming beside him as he scrolled through his phone. His focus was split between work emails and the calendar notification reminding him of his packed schedule. It was the kind of morning that felt routine, unremarkable—until Lisa called his name. “Alan,” her voice came from the laundry room, gentle but carrying an edge of something he couldn’t quite place. He barely looked up. “Yeah?” “Can you come here for a second?” she asked, her tone shifting slightly—soft, yet insistent. Alan sighed, setting his phone down as he stood. He walked to the laundry room, where Lisa stood by the counter, her blonde hair neatly tied back, the faint scent of her citrus shampoo filling the air. She was holding something in her hand, her fingers pinching the edges delicately, like it might fall apart. “These were in the laundry,” she said, lifting a pair of his white briefs for him to see. Alan froze mid-step, his eyes narrowing. “What about them?” Lisa hesitated, her expression a careful mix of concern and discomfort. She tilted the briefs toward him. “There’s… a stain.” Alan moved closer, his heart skipping a beat as he saw what she was pointing to. A faint yellowish blotch marred the otherwise pristine fabric, spreading in the center like an unwelcome accusation. His face flushed. “That can’t be mine.” Lisa tilted her head slightly, her soft blue eyes locking onto his. “Alan, it was in your side of the hamper.” “Well, I didn’t do that,” he snapped, snatching the briefs from her hand and holding them up as though examining them closer might make the stain disappear. “It’s probably detergent or something. Maybe it didn’t rinse properly.” Lisa’s expression didn’t change. If anything, her concern seemed to deepen. “Maybe,” she said slowly, her tone calm and measured. “But it doesn’t look like detergent to me.” Alan tossed the briefs onto the counter, feeling his frustration mount. “I would know if something like that happened, Lisa. This is ridiculous.” She placed a gentle hand on his arm, her touch light but steady. “Alan, I know this is uncomfortable to talk about, but things like this happen sometimes. Especially if you’ve been under stress.” “I’m not under stress,” he said sharply, pulling his arm away. “I don’t have—whatever it is you’re implying.” Lisa blinked, stepping back slightly as though his reaction had startled her. “I’m not implying anything. I’m just saying, if something’s going on, it’s better to catch it early. That’s all.” Alan stared at her, his mind racing. Was she serious? Did she actually think…? He shook his head, grabbing the briefs again and tossing them into the laundry basket. “There’s nothing going on. It’s just a stain, okay? End of story.” Lisa nodded slowly, her lips pressing into a thin line. “Okay,” she said softly, her voice almost apologetic. “I just don’t want you to feel embarrassed if it happens again.” “It’s not going to happen again because it didn’t happen in the first place,” Alan muttered, storming out of the laundry room and back to the kitchen. As he sat down at the table, Alan’s thoughts churned. He picked up his coffee but didn’t drink it, staring instead at the swirling steam. Lisa’s voice echoed in his mind. Stress. Things like this happen sometimes. It didn’t make sense. He was healthy, active. Sure, work was demanding, but it wasn’t like he was losing sleep over it. Wasn’t he? He shook his head, trying to push the thought away. Lisa was probably just overreacting. She worked in healthcare, after all. Nurses were trained to see problems even where there weren’t any, always looking for signs of trouble. That’s all this was, he told himself—Lisa being overly cautious. Nothing more. Lisa watched him from the doorway, her arms folded loosely across her chest. Her face betrayed no emotion, but inside, she was already thinking ahead. The first step was always the most delicate, but it had gone exactly as she’d hoped. A little stain, a little concern, just enough to make him doubt himself. She could tell by the way he stormed out that she’d struck a nerve. Her lips curved into a faint smile as she turned back to the laundry, picking up the briefs again and tossing them into the wash. It wasn’t about the stain itself—it never was. It was about planting the seed, a tiny whisper in his mind that something might be wrong. All she had to do now was water it. *End of Flashback* Alan leaned forward in his seat in the waiting room, staring at the floor tiles as memories rolled through his mind like a film on loop. His knee bounced restlessly, a steady rhythm that betrayed the calm he tried to project. His hand drifted to the edge of the chair, gripping it tightly as he recalled the golf course incident—an otherwise normal day that had spiraled into something else entirely. *Flashback* The sun was warm on his back, the breeze cool and refreshing as it rustled through the trees lining the course. Alan had always loved golfing with Poll. It was one of the few places where he could unwind, leave behind the endless emails and meetings that occupied his weekdays, and simply exist. That day had been no different—or at least, it hadn’t started out that way. “Two strokes ahead already?” Poll said, shaking his head as he set down his club. “You’re showing off, man. Stop making me look bad.” Alan laughed, adjusting his cap as they walked to the next hole. “Maybe you need to practice more instead of blaming me.” Poll groaned theatrically, grabbing his iced tea from the cart and taking a long sip. “Practice? That’s for people who don’t have natural talent.” Alan smirked, lining up his shot. He took a deep breath, grounding himself in the rhythm of the game, and swung. The satisfying crack of the ball echoed, and Poll let out an exaggerated whistle as it soared across the course, landing near the green. “Show-off,” Poll muttered, grinning. “You’re lucky I’m such a good sport.” “Just admit I’m better,” Alan shot back, leaning on his club. The banter continued as they finished the first nine holes and parked the cart near the clubhouse for a quick break. They found a small outdoor table with a view of the course, and Alan stretched his legs, letting the breeze cool him down. Poll was in high spirits, gesturing wildly as he recounted a story about a disastrous flight he’d been on. “So, I’m sitting there,” Poll said, waving his iced tea for emphasis, “and the guy next to me starts sneezing. I’m thinking, great, I’m catching something. Then—” Poll’s hand clipped the edge of his glass, and the tea tipped forward in slow motion, splashing across the table and onto Alan’s lap. “Damn it!” Poll exclaimed, grabbing napkins. “Sorry, man. My bad.” Alan stood quickly, brushing at the cold, wet fabric. “It’s fine,” he said, chuckling lightly. “It’s just tea. No harm done.” “Still, let me—” Poll started, but Alan waved him off. Alan wiped at his pants, trying to make light of it. He wasn’t thrilled to be walking around with damp pants, but it wasn’t the end of the world. These things happened. Poll was about to let it go when he spotted Lisa walking toward them. She was carrying her tote bag, dressed in a breezy summer dress that looked effortless but undoubtedly wasn’t. She flashed them both a smile as she approached. “Hey, you two,” she said brightly. “Who’s winning?” “Don’t ask,” Poll muttered, grinning. “He’s wiping the floor with me.” Lisa laughed, her eyes shifting to Alan. She hesitated for just a fraction of a second, her smile fading slightly. “Alan, what happened?” “Poll got excited and spilled his tea,” Alan said, his tone light. “No big deal.” Lisa’s gaze dropped to his lap, lingering there a moment too long. “Are you sure it’s just tea?” she asked, her voice soft, concerned. Alan’s smile faltered. “Of course it’s tea,” he said, his tone sharpening. “What else would it be?” Lisa stepped closer, lowering her voice. “I’m just asking. I don’t want you to feel embarrassed if it’s… something else.” “It’s tea, Lisa,” Alan snapped, louder this time. “That’s it.” Poll shifted uncomfortably in his seat, feeling the tension rise like a storm cloud. He decided to step in. “Hey, she’s just looking out for you, man. No need to bite her head off.” Alan shot him a look, his jaw tightening. “I don’t need anyone looking out for me.” Lisa held up her hands in a gesture of surrender. “Okay,” she said softly. “I just wanted to check. That’s all.” Alan muttered something under his breath and walked toward the restroom, his chest tight with frustration. He didn’t even need to use the bathroom, but he needed to get away from the table, from Lisa’s quiet scrutiny and Poll’s awkward silence. Inside the cool, tiled bathroom, Alan leaned against the sink, staring at his reflection in the mirror. His face was flushed, his jaw clenched. The tea spill had been a harmless accident, but Lisa’s words clung to him like a second skin. “Are you sure it’s just tea?” she’d asked. What kind of question was that? Did she actually think he’d…? Alan shook his head, gripping the edge of the sink. He was healthy. He’d never had an issue like that in his life. The very idea was ridiculous. But the longer he stared at his reflection, the more the doubt crept in. Lisa wasn’t the type to overreact, he told himself. She was a nurse, trained to notice problems before they became serious. Maybe she saw something he didn’t. Maybe— Alan shook his head again, harder this time. No. There was nothing wrong. It was tea. That was it. He wasn’t going to let Lisa’s overactive imagination make him question himself. He straightened, splashed cold water on his face, and forced himself to take a deep breath. When he returned to the table, he plastered on a smile, ignoring the way Lisa’s eyes lingered on him as he sat down. The rest of the game passed in strained silence, the easy camaraderie of earlier completely gone. Alan tried to focus on his swing, on the feel of the club in his hands, but his mind kept drifting back to Lisa’s question and the nagging doubt it had left behind. *End of Flashback* His phone buzzed in his pocket, snapping him out of his thoughts. He pulled it out, glancing at the screen: no new messages. Just a phantom vibration, or maybe his own anxiety playing tricks on him. He shoved the phone back into his pocket, his jaw tightening. His mind drifted back to the golf course. He couldn’t seem to let it go. The moment had been so innocuous, so ordinary—Poll knocking over a glass, tea spilling onto his pants. A harmless accident. Yet somehow, Lisa had managed to turn it into something else entirely. Are you sure it’s just tea? The words played on a loop in his head, each repetition chipping away at his confidence. What had she meant by that? Did she really think he’d wet himself? The absurdity of it was almost laughable, but it didn’t feel funny. It felt invasive, like she’d reached into his mind and planted a thought he didn’t want to acknowledge. And then there was the way she’d looked at him—like she was trying to see past his words, to something hidden beneath the surface. It wasn’t concern; it was something sharper, more probing. Alan shifted in his seat, the stiff leather squeaking beneath him. He hated how much power that single moment seemed to hold over him now. The way Lisa had asked the question—softly, almost innocently—made him feel like denying it was a defense in itself. Like by saying, It’s just tea, he was confirming her suspicion. Why didn’t I just let it go? he thought. Maybe if he’d laughed it off instead of snapping at her, the moment wouldn’t be stuck in his head like this. Maybe she wouldn’t have looked at him like she knew something he didn’t. But that wasn’t it, was it? The moment wasn’t stuck because of how he’d reacted—it was stuck because of how she’d framed it. She’d made him question something he hadn’t even considered. She’d made him doubt himself. His jaw tightened as the memory burned in his mind. Was that her goal? Was she trying to get under his skin? Or worse… what if she was right? Yes, of course, she’s right. Why else would he be sitting here in the doctor’s office if there wasn’t something to it? Alan’s mind shifted to another moment, weeks after the golf course incident. The dinner party. He’d almost forgotten about it—pushed it out of his mind, really—but now, sitting in the waiting room, it came rushing back with startling clarity. *Flashback* It had been a posh evening, the kind Lisa loved to orchestrate. Their friends filled the house with laughter and conversation, wine glasses clinking, the warm aroma of roasted vegetables and garlic wafting from the kitchen. Alan had been in his element, chatting with Poll and a couple of others, feeling the buzz of good food and good company. “Alan,” Lisa had called from the kitchen, her voice light and cheerful. “Can you grab the wine from the fridge?” “On it,” he’d replied, heading into the kitchen with an easy stride. He liked helping out during these gatherings; it made him feel like he was part of the team, not just the host. He opened the fridge, his fingers wrapping around the chilled bottle. As he turned, his elbow caught the edge of a glass on the counter. The water spilled before he could catch it, splashing onto the front of his shirt and pants. “Damn it,” he muttered, grabbing a towel from the counter to dab at the wet spot. It wasn’t a big deal—the water would dry—but he still felt a pang of annoyance. He hated looking anything less than put-together, especially in front of their friends. Before he could finish drying off, Lisa appeared in the doorway, her brow furrowing as her gaze dropped to his pants. “What happened?” she asked, her tone concerned but with a trace of something else he couldn’t quite place. “Nothing,” Alan said, brushing it off. “I knocked over a glass. Just water.” Lisa stepped closer, her eyes fixed on the darkened patch of fabric. “Are you sure?” she asked, her voice soft, almost hesitant. Alan froze, the towel hovering over his shirt. “What do you mean, am I sure?” he asked, his irritation bubbling to the surface. “It’s water, Lisa. What else would it be?” “I just…” She hesitated, her eyes meeting his with a mix of pity and caution. “I just wanted to make sure. I don’t want you to feel ...” Alan snapped, his voice rising. “It’s water. That’s it.” Lisa’s expression softened, her lips curving into a small, apologetic smile. “Of course. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you upset.” “You didn’t upset me,” he muttered, turning back toward the living room. “I’m fine.” Lisa didn’t say anything as he walked away, but Alan could feel her gaze on his back, lingering like an unwanted touch. Alan’s jaw clenched as he walked back into the living room, his damp pants still clinging uncomfortably to his legs. He could feel the weight of his friends’ eyes on him as he approached the dining area. Conversations had continued, laughter still punctuating the air, but he was certain it had been quieter when he entered. Too quiet. Like they had been talking about him. “Everything okay, Alan?” Poll asked, his tone casual, but Alan swore there was something behind the words—a touch of concern or curiosity that made his skin prickle. “Fine,” Alan said quickly, waving a dismissive hand. “Just knocked over a glass.” He sat down in his chair, forcing a smile, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that their laughter and whispers weren’t as carefree as they’d been before. His gaze darted to the group across the table, who were leaning toward one another, their voices hushed. Were they glancing at him? No, they couldn’t be—but it felt like they were. Lisa appeared behind him, her hand resting lightly on his shoulder. “Alan,” she said softly, her voice pitched low so only he could hear, “why don’t you go upstairs and change? You’ll feel more comfortable.” “I’m fine,” he muttered, his jaw tight. “Alan,” she insisted, her fingers squeezing his shoulder gently. “You’ll feel better if you’re not sitting in wet pants. And… I don’t want anyone to get the wrong idea.” His head snapped toward her, his eyes narrowing. “The wrong idea? It’s water, Lisa. Everyone knows that.” “Of course they do,” she said quickly, her tone soothing, almost placating. “But you know how people can be. It’s better to avoid any… misunderstandings.” Alan felt a flash of heat rise to his cheeks—not from embarrassment, but from anger. Why was she making such a big deal out of this? Why was she making him feel like it was a big deal? Still, he couldn’t argue without drawing more attention. “Fine,” he said curtly, standing abruptly. He ignored the glance Poll shot him and made his way upstairs, his shoulders stiff with tension. *End of Flashback* He’d tried to forget about it after that, but the moment had stuck with him, festering in the back of his mind. Why had she asked if he was sure? Did she think he couldn’t tell the difference between water and something else? Or was it another one of those “concerns” she couldn’t seem to stop voicing lately? The more he thought about it, the angrier he felt. It wasn’t just the question—it was the way she’d asked it, like she was planting a seed of doubt and waiting to see if it would grow. And the worst part? It had grown. He couldn’t stop thinking about it, even now, weeks later. It gnawed at him, made him feel like he was being scrutinized in ways he didn’t fully understand. He hated how much control those moments seemed to have over him now. The golf course, the dinner party, even the damn laundry stain—it all felt connected somehow, like pieces of a puzzle he didn’t want to solve. Am I overthinking this? he wondered. Or is she really doing this on purpose? The clock on the wall ticked steadily, its rhythm blending with the hum of the air conditioning. Alan’s jaw clenched as the memories looped in his mind, each one heavier than the last. Why can’t I just let it go? But deep down, he knew why. It wasn’t just the moments themselves—it was the way they made him feel. Like he was losing control. Like the ground beneath his feet wasn’t as solid as it used to be. And that was what scared him the most. ____________________________________________________ To be continued ____________________________________________________

Hi everybody! As a long time lurker and even longer writer for my own enjoyment, I finally got the push to actually share something. It couldn't have been done without the help of some writer friends, /u/Sissybecky (r/abdlstories) who beta read and Clairanette (aka Clairacuddles on A03), talking to both of them for hours about writing. Check them out too! Scarlet is a young woman down on her luck. She has a broken heart, bank account, and sex life. Her luck finally seems to be changing when she is offered a job on the outher side of the country, and really has no option but to take it. But what she doesn't know about the city of Caulfield Valley may get her in trouble, like what her new boss, Emilia Kane, secretly does as a side hussle. a slowburn, long form lesbian fic that is very kinky and ABDL oriented. 1- so it feels real There is both terror and freedom in restarting your life. Not in a cosmic sense, but in the moving-across-the-country-and-leaving-everyone-you-knew-on-the-opposite-coast sense. That is where Scarlet found herself this morning. Eyes red from her jetlag, hair a mess from the uncomfortable seats, and a puffy-eyed death stare meeting her from the scratched bathroom mirror. Even with her fresh start, the fresh apartment, she was not ready for her first day at a new job in this new, unfamiliar city. She wanted to sleep. She wanted to forget. She wanted to go back to her home with—a pang of heartbreak through her chest interrupted the thought. That home was no longer there, and no one was waiting for her to come home. Instead, Scarlet let out a dejected sigh, opened the cardboard moving box that contained the toiletries that were not in her carry-on, and got in the shower. She was up far earlier than she realistically needed to be, to make sure she could wash her hair, shave her legs, and still have plenty of time for makeup and a relaxed cab ride to work. The pipes whined and hot water splashed her face as the new-ish utilities sprung to life. She focused on getting the sleep out of her eyes. She resented her own anxious, over-prepare-until-exhausted tendencies. Yet Scarlet knew that on mornings where she didn’t do this, she was late. It was part of why she’d lost her last position as a Library clerk. God, that feels like a lifetime ago. If I started taking those then…what if... Scarlet let the thought drift up with the steam, and focused on the rigorous maintenance that her curly, shoulder-length bob required. The rest of the shower went likewise. She would move on to some other form of self-grooming, only for another intrusive thought to appear, and she would do her best to let it roll off of her. By the time she was done, dripping into a towel and stepping out, she had gotten most of the self loathing scrubbed off. Scarlet turned to face the same mirror. She wiped the fogged glass with one pale hand, and the same dead-eyed look greeted her. Scarlet forced a smile, hollow but just enough to come across as courteous and eager, rather than like a retail worker who was dead inside. She had plenty of practice masking in this way. Her breakfast was a microwaved cup of coffee and protein bar, the leftovers from her flight. She’d have to go to the grocery after work. She ate just enough to then turn to her prescriptions, the small, resentful white triangles tasting bitter and frustrating, her knowing that it was a 50/50 on whether she would be vomiting before lunch. The three small blue estrogen pills had to melt sublingually, and wouldn’t upset her stomach. They did, however, taste like minty asshole as they dissolved under her tongue while she started her makeup routine. It went quickly, Scarlet’s old “professional” looks still in her head after years of rushed mornings where her mediocre nutrition and makeup routine battled for time. Her hands danced; brushing, patting, dabbing, blending, and setting at a quick but deliberate pace. This wasn’t Scarlet’s first time working places that made her tone down her looks and cover her smattering of artsy tattoos that criss crossed her arms. Her new boss had assured her however, that so long as she wore at least business casual and none of the tattoos visible were profane, no one would care. Simple enough to cover the guillotine on her shoulder blade or the shoddy stick and poke of her highschool bff’s band “The Fart Coffins” on the opposite blade. She only sometimes regretted that one out of any of the designs on her body. She finished with a modest amount of very neutral blush, and got up to dress in the outfit she had laid out the night before. A simple white blouse and black skirt, black tie, black flats. Should show a good first impression for a secretary of a legal office. She couldn’t help but roll the sleeves partially, however, showing hints and edges of her ink. Scarlet made sure her hair was dry, shook her head as a jolt of the last taste of estrogen left her mouth, and called for her cab. Just before leaving, she packed her purse, and heard an unfamiliar jingling at the bottom. Fishing through the myriad receipts, dust bunnies and half finished chapsticks, she finally found the culprit, and her heart dropped. A simple gold ring, with an inscription inside; Futile – the winds –/ To a Heart in port –The singular band was heavy in her hand, and Scarlet felt the heartbreak all over again. She wanted nothing more than to scream. She wanted to sob until her throat was hoarse, to wail in pain. She wanted to call her. Instead, she tenderly wiped the welling tear in one eye to preserve her mascara, roughly threw open the drawer to toss the precious bomb in with a clatter. The front door slammed and locked behind her. The cab hummed quietly as it rode down the dense city streets, and Scarlet focused on taking in the sites of tree leaves slowly changing color through the cab window. She was headed further downtown from her new apartment, and even still there were beautiful trees she wasn’t familiar with. This is exactly what I thought the East Coast to look like, and yet it’s even more beautiful than I could have imagined, she mused to herself. She was used to her hometown in the Bay, the palms and pines of the San Francisco and Oakland areas all she had made friends with until now. The trees were dotted in front of the tall downtown shops, looking like something out of a Norman Rockwell painting. She took a picture every now and again, killing time until her quiet cab driver pulled over to a sidewalk. Scarlet smoothed her skirt, handed the man his fare and a tip, and stepped out in front of a small office building. Her flats echoed against the shiny, reflective tile as she followed signs and elevator directories to Kane Arbitration & Mediation Legal Services. The interior of the elevator shined, polished enough that Scarlet could see her own reflection. She took a moment as she rode to the fourth floor, using the reflection to adjust her skirt. She was so tall that no matter what she wore, it always eventually turned into a skirt shorter than intended, and that was the last thing she wanted to project on her first day. Once the soft fabric was in place, better resting on her hips and covering much of her long thighs, she noticed she had arrived. Scarlet swallowed, her nerves making it louder than she had wanted, and exited as the doors parted. Kane Legal was one of the only offices on this floor, and it didn’t take her long to find, but she paused outside the door anyway. She took solace in the fact her new employer wouldn’t be able to see her through the doors frosted glass. Scarlet had a moment to steady the shaking in her hands. There’s nothing left for you back there. This has to work. You have no other option. The thought was supposed to be comforting. She opened the door and recalled all the times that thought would light a fire in her—to ignite the contrarian and spiteful nature she had to anyone that doubted her. A year ago, this would have made her unstoppable…but the last year was harder than she could have ever predicted. The reception area of the office was nicely decorated, looking like the kind you’d see on a mid-budget daytime law drama. No one was at the desk that she assumed would be hers, so she tried to peer around a corner leading to what she assumed would be Miss Kane’s proper office. Sure enough, a door at the end of the hall was open and revealed a head of deep black hair peaking just over the top of a large computer monitor. Scarlet took a moment for them to notice her. In another life, Scarlet would have confidently marched into the office, head held high, with enough swagger to convince anyone that she owned this office. Now the poor girl stood there, shivering as her future awaited. The Scarlet of a year ago would have left this newer Scarlet behind, just like the one she cared about the most. She prayed this wasn’t some kind of test. “Excuse me?” She called out, causing the head to twitch, “I’m looking for Miss Kane?” The top of the head rose for a pair of eyes to see just over the top, and then a hand brusquely slid the monitor on a pivoting stand out of the way. Scarlet recognized her now, the telltale hazel, almost golden eyes and a striking streak of platinum blonde to one side having stuck with her since their video interview. “And you have found her.” Her voice merrily sang, reverberating down the tiled hall. She stood. “You must be Ms. Finch. I am so glad to finally get you out here. May I be the first to properly welcome you to Caulfield Valley, I hope your flight was smooth?” Scarlet was immediately put off balance, having to look up at someone for once. Even if Emilia Kane hadn’t been in imposing black heels, she would easily have three inches on the six feet even Scarlet. She effortlessly glided down the hall towards Scarlet, her hand outstretched. Scarlet met her, returning her’s for a handshake. The taller woman’s hands were so soft. “Ah, t-thank you, Ma’am.” She politely smiled, and decided to rest her hands on the strap of her purse so as to not fidget. “I appreciate that, it was a long flight.” She wanted to divulge how exhausted and sore she was, but held back. “That is such a shame.” Emilia twisted her mouth into a concerned frown for a moment, a hand grabbing her chin in thought. “If you ever need to fly for me again, I can make sure you have better accommodations. Thankfully, your first day probably will not be too demanding. I am hoping to simply get you familiar with the way I organize best and have you operating at full speed before my next big meeting in…,” She checked the date on her phone, pulling it from the breast pocket of her dark green suit, “-three days. Does all that sound good?” Scarlet sighed in relief. “More than good, Ma’am, I’m sure I can be up to snuff by the end of the day.” She was a tiny bit surprised by how confident she sounded. “Oh please, Ma’am makes me feel old.” She waved a hand as if shooing the notion away, “I know to most it is respectful, but I prefer ‘Miss’ or just Emilia if it is all the same to you.” She rested the same hand now on her hips, which Scarlet noted were surprisingly accented in this type of suit. She nodded in response, and Emilia gestured for her to sit in the chair behind the receptionist desk. The woman looked like she was off a runway, the two piece suit and platinum jewelry complimenting her intense eyes and the vibrant streak of silver- no, platinum blonde in her hair. The hazel of her eyes became almost amber-gold as the light from the windows caught them. When her new employer wasn’t looking, she shook her head to erase the thoughts. Scarlet couldn’t exactly be thinking about how attractive her boss was if she didn’t want to risk her new living situation. “—and your last employer said you were familiar with all of these programs, is that right?” The question snapped Scarlet back to reality as Emilia motioned to the open windows of the computer. “That’s right. All of this is right in my wheelhouse.” Scarlet affirmed, grateful that the job didn’t seem to have any sudden surprises. “And this looks like a pretty standard inter-office set up on the phones as well. Would you prefer a call or a ping on your computer when you have a call or a client?” She hoped the question would help make her seem competent and ‘a go-getter,’ something her father had told her once upon a time about starting a new job. “A call is fine unless I am already with a client. If I do not respond, you may call regardless.” Emilia said, a small smile of approval spreading across her red lips. “On the topic of clients, occasionally you are to sit in for meetings and you will be taking notes. These are legal matters and meet the standard of attorney-client-privilege. So it is vitally important you understand that anything you hear or write down in those meetings are confidential, but could end up under scrutiny if we were ever to be sued or subpoenaed. Are you comfortable with that?” “I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.” Scarlet nodded, “To be clear, any notes I take are private between you and I unless that happens right? Like—” she kicked herself for her valleygirl filler word, and tried to recover, “a doctor? For example, I wouldn’t talk about this with anyone except you or the client, even during off hours?” Scarlet couldn’t lie to herself and say that didn’t make her anxious. Her understanding of the legal system told her there were a million and one ways to mess up proceedings if everyone didn’t know them ahead of time. The clarity would help alleviate that anxiety. “Exactly. We can talk about it informally outside of the office but we must use discretion. God forbid you run into a client at a bar, make sure neither of you are shouting without realizing. However you got the most important part. Good job.” Something inside Scarlet warmed at her new boss’s approval. Emilia’s phone lit up and began ringing in her hand. She rolled her eyes. “I have to take this,” she explained, grabbing a small packet from the top drawer of the desk, “Just answer the phone if any calls come in and start filling this out with your info so I can make payments and records and such. It will only take a moment!” Emilia walked back up the hall, closing the door of her office. Scarlet could hear her talking in a tone that sounded professional and even, but couldn’t make out anything specific. When Scarlet realized she could not eavesdrop, no matter how hard she tried to focus, she instead grabbed a pen from the desk and focused on the forms. They were typical of starting with any new employer: tax info, new address, signing agreements. Scarlet was sorely missing the over-designed packets she would receive on her first day at each of the oversized chain stores she had grown up working at. The kind that tries to convince the reader that “we’re a family here,” isn’t the same as “your boss will not give a single shit about you if you think for yourself.” They were always a riot to laugh at with her fellow cashiers, clerks, and baristas. Everything was astonishingly professional, and felt tailored to the tiny law office. The forms were of course up to every standard Scarlet was aware of, but everything appeared handwritten and then copied from a master document. The young woman marveled at the curves and loops that seemed so practiced, so official. Calligraphy as a hobby? Scarlet’s daydream was broken as the phone rang. Her arm sprung to life, grabbing the phone and bringing it to her ear. “Hello, Legal Offices of Miss Kane, how can I help you?” Her mind auto piloted the greeting, a tactic she’d learned as a young adult to perform before any social anxiety made her hesitate to answer. There was a silent beat, broken only by soft background hum from the receiver. A deeper voice finally spoke. “Oh, is Miss Kane not in?” “I’m sorry, she’s stepped away for another call. I’m the new secretary.” The professional mask came back to her like a second skin, despite over a year of disuse. “Can I take a message for you?” Scarlet offered. “Er,” The voice stammered for a moment, then clarified, “Yeah. Actually, you can tell her that I have to back out of Friday’s meeting, I won’t be rescheduling. She can keep the deposit. Goodbye.” Scarlet busied herself scribbling the note down. “Wait, I’ll need to tell her your name.” She tried to catch the man before he disconnected. It was too late, the line went dead. Scarlet took a confused look at the receiver before returning it to the cradle. She tried to imagine what would have someone behaving this way, but even her previous customer support and retail work did not track here. Scarlet merely blinked in confusion and returned to filling her new employment forms. She could hear the muffled speech of her new boss, not able to pick distinct words, only cadence. The forms were dull and simple enough, and before too long Emilia’s office door clicked open. Scarlet was finishing the bottom lines of the last page, hoping quietly to impress the imposing woman, as childish as that want may be. Emilia’s heels marked her approach down the hall, and Scarlet spun gracefully in her swivel chair to face her. “Did I hear a call come in while I was gone?” “You did, and I've got a message,” Scarlet tried her best to sound professional yet nonchalant, “your Friday meeting canceled, said to keep his deposit.” She looked up to Emilia to gauge her superior’s reaction. Emilia gave nothing but a solitary eyebrow twitch. “He didn’t leave a name and hung up…is that normal?” “Whether it’s normal or not, we get to keep the deposit for my time, and that’s what matters to me.” Emilia said, too hurried to be as casual. Scarlet decided to just let that slip.There was something going on here, but she would catch the intricacies of the client relationships soon enough. Emilia very pointedly avoided her gaze to check the time, and excused herself again. The rest of the day moved slowly, save for asking Scarlet for a coffee run in the afternoon, which turned into buying a cafe scone for Scarlet’s lunch as well. She busied herself with memorizing the upcoming schedule, the program, and the routine expected of her. She tried not to fidget as the caffeine had its way with her later in the day. The bouncing of her leg coincided with an increase in worry. Would she have another reaction to this medication like her last, and be unable to sleep? Would Emilia be angry that she wasn’t being proactive in some way? How was she supposed to know? She paused, trying to stop ruminating. She lifted her hands away from the keyboard. They were shaking, and she squeezed her eyes closed. When Scarlet opened them, they focused through her fingers, at the sticky note she had written down the message, and the smaller coffee order beneath it. Sighing, she wrote down the coffee order on her phone and on her desktop notepad. If she could do nothing, she would be constructive and prepared for the future. Her hands kept shaking for the remainder of the shift. Scarlet wasn’t sure if it was the anxiety, the caffeine, or her meds. She’d been so isolated until moving she hadn’t noticed if the shaking started then. Just past five, Emilia’s heels clicked down the hall, a smart designer purse over one shoulder. “Now, is there anything I can clarify before we leave?” Her voice sang again and the hall reverberated in tune with her voice like Brian Eno was behind it. Scarlet shook her head, smiling with her mask back on as she spun to face Emilia again. “Thank you so much, but I don’t think I’ve got any questions yet.” Scarlet wanted to be sincere in thanking her, drop the facade and business-casual tone. Speaking without rehearsal tended to bite her in the ass lately. She squeezed her hands between her thighs to try and avoid any probing questions. Scarlet could only imagine suspicious and overbearing concern at best if her new boss thought there was something wrong with her medically. “Is there anything else I can help with? I’ve just been organizing your schedule and getting used to the layout in here all day.” She desperately wanted to get her groceries before it was too dark. “No thank you, Scarlet. You’ve already helped me enormously, you have no idea.” Emilia ushered Scarlet out the door, and locked it behind her. * * If one thing in the world could be counted on, it was chain stores being identical on the inside. Scarlet pushed an identically squeaky cart up identically packed aisles among indistinguishable brands. The only difference really seemed to be the accents. She approached bulk rice bags, hesitated, and drew out her phone with dread. Her meager bank account balance confirmed her fears, and she begrudgingly went for the generic. Other staples like cheap instant ramen and pasta followed suit. The sole splurge was the cheapest, sweetest, garbage brand of red wine she could find. Her cab ride was identical, save for the setting sun behind her. Purples and oranges and cotton-candy-clouds danced behind her, out of view, as she slowly sank her head against the cool glass of the window. At least the trees are still pretty. She raised her phone again to try and take a picture, but the camera went grainy in the growing dark. Her new apartment greeted her with the same lonely tone as when she first received the keys. It was cold, it was empty, the furnishings were bland and picked by the property management company. Nothing here was hers yet, save the stacked boxes of cardboard. Her tired arms carried the groceries to their appropriate resting places, and she cracked open the wine before settingling on the couch. Out of habit she reached for her remote, only to remember she didn’t have a TV yet. Sold for the moving expenses. Scarlet was so tired of sighing. She took a swig of wine, an old comfort that was basically a juicebox and rubbing alcohol that reminded her of being broke in college. She opened her phone, wishing for any stimulation. Her friends, (rather former friends) were still posting stories, still sharing their bad takes and inane jokes. She considered getting off the couch to do the same. It was all performative anyway, right? But the energy wouldn’t come when she called out for it. Another sip, and she swapped apps. Scarlet noticed the singular blink of darkness on her phone’s screen. “Please, you piece of shit. I really can’t afford you to die right now.” Her worries seemed unfounded, as the brilliant screen returned and the malfunction wasn’t replicated for the rest of the night. What was strange, however, were the kinds of new accounts she was being recommended as she scrolled her timeline. Now, Scarlet was no prude. She enjoyed fucking and her alone time as much as anyone. Estrogen and Progesterone even maybe had her hornier than the average. But her timeline wasn’t full of this much smut. She had friends in the sex work game, but she didn’t exactly like, share, favorite, reblog, or any other influencer verb their content. Another website breaking their algorithm again? Even if Dani did porn, she didn’t do this kind of porn. Morbid curiosity, and a slight increase in her pulse, beckoned Scarlet onward. Drawings, videos, and staged photos of women in things she’d only seen in racy HBO content. She didn’t even know what to call the more intricate…props…but felt herself linger on a clip of a woman riding a…pleasure machine plugged into the wall behind her. Scarlet’s face matched her namesake and she scrolled on. A woman sitting at a home office, the quintessential framing of every vlog you’ve ever watched. Finally somebody is fucking sane in this world. She clicked the video without even reading the caption, and the perky eyed labrador retriever of a woman began to speak. “Hi everybody! This is the Channel of O. SO!” The blonde clapped for emphasis. “You’re trying to learn about BDSM, and you have no idea where to start.” Scarlet’s eyes went wide, she took another sip, and watched the woman jumpcut and explain through terrible jokes. It was a trainwreck, steam engines exploding in her mind. It made her hot in the crotch. Scarlet finished her glass, finished the video, and poured herself another while going deeper to the woman’s personal channel. More videos, more introductory guides. Scarlet polished the second glass, and was too engrossed despite the initial impulse to cringe to even pour another. Her alarm rang to remind her to take the rest of her medication, pulling her out of her trance.How long had she been zoned out? It was eight thirty. Losing track of time like that wasn’t uncommon for her and this diversion was welcome. She resigned herself and went to go take another dose of bitter antidepressants and her dose of Progesterone. Once the poison was administered, she looked across her kitchen to the counter where she left her phone. It lay there, like a metal megalith, imposing despite being a little plastic rectangle. Scarlet had to gather her nerve just to walk across the room and lift the damn thing. Once it was back in her hand, she used shaking hands to unlock it. The Channel of O was still smiling up at her, and she felt her cheeks getting redder. Her glass of wine was forgotten as she brought her phone to her bedroom. She unboxed her duvet, and sat on the soft material as the video resumed. Scarlet was enthralled, soaking in every bit of knowledge she could. “There’s all kinds of different dynamics! You’re probably familiar with a ‘master/slave’ dynamic,” The blonde woman began, “but there’s also pets and owners, and even daddies, mommies,—” Scarlet’s pulse quickened,”—or more generically caregivers and littles! Sometimes that’s called ABDL if it involves diapers.” Scarlet felt her breath catch in her throat. Her fingers flew into a flurry, and a private internet search later, her phone was filled with images that made her heartbeat accelerate. Videos, drawings, and many, many depictions of adult women, with all their curves and freckles and other parts that excited Scarlet, in thick diapers. They ranged across all body types, and the infantile garb varied from plain white plastic to over the top patterns to evoke baby diapers. Scarlet continued to scroll, eyes wide in wonder and excitement. She finally stopped, a thumbnail capturing her attention like a punch to the gut and clicked the video. Scarlet’s mouth went wide, and felt herself starting to leak into her panties. A gorgeous, curvaceous woman was lying on her back, supple lips wrapped around the nipples of another woman, in nothing but a pastel colored diaper and delicate, lacy lingerie top. The tender moment evoked breastfeeding, save for the “mother” holding a massive vibrator against the woman’s…diaper. The “baby” of the couple was moaning, growing louder, and Scarlet felt a tent form under her skirt. Eventually, the “baby” was screaming, thrusting her hips into the massive sex toy, in time with cries of “Mommy!” Mommy’s smile was intoxicating. She was very clearly getting off just as much as her baby, her face painted a combination of maternal nurturing, hedonistic pleasure, ecstatic elation, and sadistic control as she began thrusting the enormous vibrator in time with her partner’s thrusts. It was obviously acting on the merit of pornography, but Scarlet couldn’t tear herself away. She allowed her hand to snake up to a nipple poking through her top. Scarlet realized her own arousal, and in embarrassment, closed the tab, flinging her phone to the edge of the bed like it was a dangerous spider. She flung the covers off, racing to the bathroom for a cold shower.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This will be a fairly short story, only a couple of parts and it will be TONS lighter than my other stories...at least I think so, I suppose you guys will be the ones to decide that. The concept is VERY loosely based on actual events and the title is straight up from this gif: In case anyone was wondering. Anyway, we have so much time and so little to do...strike that, reverse it. On with the story! One “Ending And Beginning” The music played softly in the background as she sat on her bed, hands folded on her lap as she looked down at them. She’d been trying to get the words to come out for the better part of five minutes now, and she knew that if she looked at him she’d be completely unable to say them altogether, so she focused on her hands, her slender fingers fidgeting and flitting over and between one another as her heart thumped in her chest. “Look, I know that whatever you have to tell me is bad, so just rip the band-aid and tell me already.” he said, his voice heavy with worry and concern for her. She breathed in deeply and exhaled sharply. “I cheated on you.” she blurted out. A song change accompanied the creak of the chair he was sitting on as he leaned back against it, his teeth running over his tongue as he started to speak but stopped as the gravity of the situation hit him. “When?” he asked numbly. She shook her head. “When I was on vacation with my family over the Summer.” she confessed. “My sister and I met some guys on the beach and-” she stopped, realizing that thinking about the event was exciting her and this wasn’t the time for that. “Why?” he asked, his voice quavering as though he were struggling not to cry. She wanted to look at him, to see if he were really about to cry, but kept looking at her hands as she shrugged. “I was away from you and someone else paid me attention the way you do.” she told him. He scoffed. “Attention?” he asked. “You fucked another guy behind my back because you weren’t getting attention from me while you were half a country away?!” his voice rose, the sadness from before abandoning his tone for outright anger. She wondered if he’d hit her, if maybe his anger would turn into forcefulness and dominance that would possibly give way to a bit of the roughness she’d found on the beach that night, her neck lightly bruised from the stranger choking her as he fucked her beneath the stars. “I’m not saying this is your fault or anything.” she told him. “You’re goddamned right this isn’t my fault!” he shouted, standing from his seat abruptly, the chair shooting backward into the wall behind with a loud thud. “We’re done.” he said. “I’m done with you.” he added as he went to the bedroom door and threw it open and stormed out of her house and out of her life. *****Several Years Later***** She scrolled through the photos and rolled her eyes. “Ooh, look at us, so happy.” she mockingly thought as she stopped on a picture of her ex and his new girlfriend at Disney World sharing a Mickey Mouse pretzel in front of the castle at the entrance of the park. Since they’d broken up she’d obsessed about him, her guilt over cheating on him making her believe that she could win him back in time if she could just show him what a mistake it was for them to be apart. She’d stalked his social media profiles and hated his new girlfriend from the moment she’d seen her. Maggie, the new girlfriend was, in her opinion, a stupid little girl that didn’t deserve to have such a wonderful boyfriend. She couldn’t see what the attraction was, Maggie was so short and slight where she was buxom and curvy, Maggie wore cute outfits that screamed “I’m a cute girl!” in bright colors where she was more subdued in her attire, leaning toward dark colors and things that painted her as an adult woman rather than a perpetual child. Even her hair was trying to represent her as a little girl, often in pigtails, the fiery red of it done up that way making her look like a little clown, where she would sometimes have her black hair in a loose ponytail but more often than not just let it drape over her shoulders in classic elegance. More pictures of the trip loaded as she scrolled, Maggie waving to him and the camera from her seat inside a Dumbo shaped ride cart, looking like an absolute idiot as she smiled widely. “Little bitch probably isn’t even tall enough to ride real rides.” she thought with a sadistic smirk. The next picture was Maggie with Winnie the Pooh, her happy smile and her denim shortalls making her look all the more like the overgrown child she appeared to desperately want to be. The last picture was him and Maggie on the tram, him taking a selfie of the two of them as she lay sleeping with his arm around her, hugging her to him. She stared at the picture, at the sleeping girl and his smile as he held her to him and she scoffed as her mind created a story to go along with the photo, one where Maggie had fallen asleep on the tram because she truly was nothing more than a little girl and had had such a big day in the park that she could barely keep her little eyes open for long enough to get on the tram back to the hotel. She imagined that he’d tried to wake her up when they’d arrived back at the hotel, but when she wouldn’t get up he’d simply picked her up and carried her, the mental image of her legs dangling sleepily behind him as she slept with her head on his shoulder, his strong hands supporting her denim clad bottom as they moved through the hotel. Her hand slipped down between her thighs as she imagined “bumping” into them as they got off the elevator, commenting to him how sweet he was to spend his vacation babysitting, hiding her smirk as little Maggie wet herself in her sleep, drenching his shirt with her accident. Her fantasy self had offered to help him clean up, leading him back to her room, which was right near the elevator, and he’d put aside his annoyance at Maggie’s accident to agree, following her into her room and dumping the brat onto the bed as she helped him strip his shirt off, kissing his neck softly and moving downward as she worked his belt and dropped his pants and boxers for him, smiling up at him from her new position in front of his growing hardness. The fantasy ended with him taking her from behind on the bed next to the pathetic little Maggie who had taken to sucking her thumb while she slept next to the adults. She pulled her wet fingers from between her thighs and slumped back in her chair with a contented sigh. “That was a weird little fantasy.” she thought absently as she wiped her hand clean with a nearby towel, looking at the picture of him and the sleeping Maggie on the tram. “But what if it wasn’t just a fantasy.” she wondered. Working for hours on her computer, she set up a rather ingenious trap for little Maggie, a message sent to her social media from a dummy account made to look authentic that, when opened, would give her a backdoor into the girl’s device, whether that was a computer or her phone, it didn’t really matter, she could do what she needed to with either. The account was made to look like a friend from school that wanted to reconnect, the kind of thing a little fool like Maggie wouldn’t think twice about opening up the moment she saw it, and by then her fate would be sealed. Later in the evening she got a notification that the message had been opened, first on the girl’s laptop and then on her phone, for some reason, giving her access to both without any issue. Waiting until the middle of the night, when she was sure Maggie would be asleep, she tapped into the girl’s computer and began setting everything up. She created a subfolder named “Nothing” within the “Program Files” folder inside the Windows folder to keep Maggie from accidentally stumbling on it and filled it with things she’d found when she searched for “Adult little girl”, finding it hard not to laugh when she saw pictures of grown women wearing little outfits not too dissimilar from Maggie’s chosen attire, some playing with toys on the floor, others sucking on pacifiers as they colored, but most with either visible diapers on beneath their clothes or naked save for a diaper or training panties. Further digging had sent her down a rabbit hole of stories about women being reduced to second infancy by their significant others, photos of grown women in highchairs and cribs drinking bottles with their thick diapers on full display. She made a bookmark folder on the girl’s browser with a chain of folders inside to make it look like it had been purposefully hidden by Maggie herself, and loaded it with the story and photo sites she’d found as well as several video sites that had shown her how not at all weird her earlier fantasy had been. With things set up, she turned off her computer and slipped into bed to fantasize about Maggie being discovered as the secret pervert she was by her boyfriend and, being the caring and compassionate man he was, he would devote himself to indulging the girl’s desires, turning her into a helpless baby and leaving him to be snatched up by his suddenly reappeared ex who would show him what a grown up woman could do for him. With a smile on her face and the milky afterglow of climax washing over her, she went to sleep eager to continue with her plan the following day. ********** The new day dawned with her sipping her coffee as she went to various sites related to Maggie’s newfound interests and began to build an online persona for the girl, who went by Baby Maggie, of course. She posted on a forum about how she wished her boyfriend would baby her, that she really wanted to wear thick diapers and have him take care of her like a good Daddy should. The onslaught of responses made her laugh, the sheer number of men offering to be her Daddy was actually surprising to her, and she took things a little further and did some roleplaying with a few of them just to make sure the evidence was good and damning. She tapped into the girl’s phone and set up a tracker so she could see where she was and made sure that there were videos saved in a hidden folder to illustrate that Baby Maggie wanted to be able to see these naughty things wherever she happened to be. With the groundwork laid, she stalked the girl’s social media and waited for an opening, like a romantic dinner with her boyfriend a few days later that she used the tracker to see the location of and arranged for a little run in with the happy couple to put herself back into his mind so that when everything started to fall into place she’d be fresh in his thoughts. She dressed up in her nicest dress, a lovely black number that made her ample cleavage impossible to ignore, and her heels that would leave her towering over the diminutive Maggie when they bumped into one another. She arranged for a date with some random guy she’d seen a few times, someone she could abandon without fear of argument, and waited for him to pick her up, linking her own phone with Maggie’s so she could mess with the girl while she was out. The restaurant was a classy place, too fancy for Maggie, she thought as she waited at the hostess station with her date, his hand groping her ass as he stood beside her. She remembered the last time she’d been with him, the secret trip to the restroom of the bar they were at, the way he’d forced her to her knees to service him as he gripped her throat, the smell of the restroom filling her nostrils as she took him into her mouth. She brushed the less than pleasant memory aside as the hostess grabbed their menus and led them through the restaurant, her phone showing that they were not far from the other couple, her looking around as they were seated bringing a smile to her face as she saw little Maggie in a sweet floral printed dress across the dining area, laughing at something her boyfriend had said and covering her mouth to be respectful to the other diners. When she saw him her heart skipped a beat. He was wearing a gray dress shirt with a deep purple tie, his beard trimmed short and his short afro perfectly formed to make him look so dapper and sexy, even more so when looking at his date. Maggie’s red hair was in a ponytail rather than her trademark pigtails, but her floral printed dress made her look like she was dressed for Easter egg hunting rather than a romantic meal with her boyfriend. She could see the girl’s legs swinging lazily beneath her chair, her chunky sandals abandoned on the floor bringing a smirk to her face. “What are you staring at?” her date asked as he turned to look where she was looking. She sighed and focused her attention on him. “Look, if you do something for me, I’ll make it well worth your while.” she told him, her own shoe slipping off as she stretched out her leg and touched her toes to the head of his manhood through his pants, feeling it stir and stiffen instantly. He swallowed hard. “What do you want?” he asked. ********** “I thought that was you!” she declared happily as she neared the other couple’s table with her date in tow. He looked up from his meal, his eyes going wide in surprise when he saw her. “Hey, Melanie!” he said in forced politeness. He cleared his throat, “Maggie, this is Melanie, we were friends in high school.” he told Maggie. “Melanie, this is my girlfriend, Maggie.” he said, finishing the introduction. Maggie smiled up at Melanie from her seat. “Nice to meet you, Melanie.” she chirped politely as she extended her arm to shake the girl’s hand. Melanie took the smaller girl’s hand in hers and shook it, marveling at just how petite the girl was in person. “It’s lovely to meet you too, Maggie!” she cooed in syrupy sweet mock sincerity. Her date cleared his throat. “Oh, where are my manners, this is Gabe, my boyfriend.” Melanie said as she released Maggie’s hand and gestured to her date. “Gabe, this is Derrick and Maggie.” she said. “Derrick and I dated in high school.” she added. Maggie looked to her boyfriend. “Dated, huh?” she asked. Derrick nodded. “That’s right, I’d forgotten that we’d actually dated.” he said. Melanie hid her anger at his attitude toward their relationship and turned back to Maggie. “We won’t take up anymore of your time, I just wanted to pop by and say hi to a familiar face.” she explained. They all said their polite goodbyes and Melanie and Gabe departed, her feeling good about the encounter and him looking forward to collecting on his reward for going along with whatever had just happened. ********** Using her access to Maggie’s computer, Melanie tapped into the girl’s bank account and checked out her spending and savings habits over the year, figuring out where she could set aside money to allow her to do some shopping for Baby Maggie. Creating a program that would siphon untraceable amounts of money into a holding space every time Maggie money was added to the girl’s account, she went to work creating wish lists on various sites for adorable diapers and baby clothes, using the girl’s shopping histories on clothing websites to ensure that she got the right sizes for everything. With her plans regarding Maggie up and running, she set her sights on Derrick, reaching out to him on his social media with a simple message, “Hey, Derrick, I wanted to just say that I hope I wasn’t intruding the other day when I ran into you, it just isn’t often that I bump into old friends at random and I guess I just wasn’t thinking. Maggie is really cute and I’m happy that you’re happy.”. She sent the message off and decided to take a break from her computer to think more about her eventual takeover of Derrick’s heart. She imagined Derrick coming home to find all the packages she’d ordered in Maggie’s name, setting them aside for her until she got home and then when she opened them up and found perfectly sized baby clothes and diapers, that she would swear up and down she hadn’t ordered despite all evidence to the contrary, Derrick would assume she was playing a game and insist that she put the items to good use. She imagined him messaging her and confiding in her everything that was going on with Maggie, inviting her over when she pretended not to believe him and then she’d arrive and see Baby Maggie on the floor in her bulky diaper and precious baby clothes and seduce him in front of her, the poor thing crying as she watched the last vestige of her adult life choose a real woman instead of a helpless little baby. The fantasy made her wonder absently if she herself wasn’t secretly into girls in diapers, at least from a domination and humiliation standpoint, but she banished the thought away as her phone alerted her that she’d received a message. “Mel, no worries, you weren’t intruding, it was good to see you again and with someone that makes you happy.” he’d written. She sent him a friend request after a few hours had gone by, just so she didn’t look too eager, and smiled when she got the notification that he’d accepted. “We’ll be together soon, my love.” she thought as she plugged in her phone for the night and slipped off to sleep thinking about all the fun she was going to have with poor, defenseless Maggie in the very near future. To Be Continued...